


If Not Us

by TheAfterglow



Category: Star Wars, Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Ben Darcys ish up like WHOA, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Deal with a Devil, F/M, Hux does paint-by-number, Kennedy-esque, Makeup Sex, Making decisions while under the influence of grief, Mentions of Phux, Political AU, Pride and Prejudice References, Rating May Change, Reylo for Office 1964, Roleplay, Slow Burn, campaign trail
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-24
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-04-07 15:23:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 79,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14083872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAfterglow/pseuds/TheAfterglow
Summary: In 1964, Rey is a new college graduate with a position at the New York Times.Ben Solo is the youngest Senator in the US Congress with his eye on the White House and no clear challengers.Except... there hasn't been an unmarried US President yet this century.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> "If not us, who? If not now, when?" - John F. Kennedy

**_March 1964_ **

The Friday before Easter was quiet across campus. Spring flowers were pushing up in their beds, little bursts of bright yellow and dark purple, half-hidden beneath a layer of leftover autumn leaves the groundskeepers had yet to clear away. The buds were forming on the trees and the concrete walkways were still damp from a late afternoon shower, but the sun was peeking out from behind threatening clouds once more. The silence was cut only by the occasional birdsong and the distant roar of a passing car headed down Main Street towards the highway. It felt sacred, the silence--marking the transition between the seasons, from the death of winter to the riot of early spring.

In the silence, Senator Ben Solo found deep comfort and a sense of rightness. Right that he should be here now, the youngest man in Congress and looking towards the White House in the fall. Comfort that this last stop signaled a least a short break from the madness of the campaign trail. At first he had loved the uneven rhythm of it, the late nights and long days and last minute strategizing about how and where and when to appear, but it was taking him away from his duties to his constituents, no doubt. He needed a rest.

In the faculty bathroom next to the auditorium, Ben flicked the excess water off his hands and ran them through his hair, taming it to one side before drying them and straightening his tie. It wouldn’t do to look like he was coasting, even if he was already thinking about his mother’s glazed ham and glasses of scotch with his father. It would be good to see them, he nodded at his reflection. It had been too long since he’d gotten back to his family’s place. They didn’t care for Washington--who did, really-- but they’d been in town for Christmas on their way to Florida for the winter months and were only recently back in state.

He nodded to his friend and stepped into the front of the room.

The bedlam was instant.

“Senator!”

“Senator Solo?”

"Senator, I have a question!”

The men’s hands shot up in unison through the smoky air and he smiled broadly at them.

“Take it easy, ladies,” Ben stooped slightly as he adjusted the microphones at the podium. “Not all at once now.”

A low-pitched murmur of good-natured laughter rippled through the room. The afternoon sunlight was strong through the tall windows in the lecture hall.

“Nice of you all to come out this afternoon,” he began. “It’s been a whirlwind these past couple months.”

He was used to this by now, and with his recent sweep of the early primaries, the press sessions had become freewheeling, jovial events that were more joking than journalism. The same reporters came to each one, and they’d heard his spiel a million times. At this point he could repeat their questions, and they his answers. He’d shaken hands and kissed babies and mugged for the camera, and now he could enjoy the spoils of being the front runner, at least for a little bit.

They wound slowly through the standard topics. The reach of the federal government vs. states’ rights, a perennial favorite. _Of course_ he honored the structure of government the founding fathers, in their infinite wisdom and foresight, _of course_ he recognized their genius and that of the Constitution. But their vision was to continually reinterpret the principles of the nation and its laws as it made sense for modern people. No sense living in the past when the nation needed to plan for the future.

Foreign policy-- or, his relative lack of hands-on experience with it. The economy. He favored development of new, industries over propping up old, dying ones, like any sensible person would. He believed in the power of American freedom to foster innovation and the best, brightest minds at their universities. How was that even a question?

He caught Hux’s eye at the back where he scribbled notes on the questions as fast as they were flung at Ben. The ginger tapped his pen on his notepad. _Wrap this up, man- it’s Friday and I’m thirsty._

“Senator, did you know there’s never been an unmarried US president?” It was John from the _Cleveland Plain Dealer_. Portly. Always sweating. Liked scotch. Liked scotch perhaps a little too much.

“Interesting,” Ben nodded. “I’ve heard that, but why does that matter? What should matter is a man’s experience, and I’ve gained a lot of that over the last five years in office.”

“Outside it, too!” A gruff voice barked from one side. William at the _Jackson Register_. Right on schedule. The man loved to bring up Ben’s reputation at every turn, a tired move he chalked up to aged jealousy of his youthful appetites. Jealousy, and a wife who looked sturdy enough she could play linebacker any number of college football teams in the southeast division.

Ben feigned contrition. “You boys know what President Harding said, right? That it was a good thing he wasn’t a woman, or else he’d have been pregnant all the time. He just couldn’t say no.”

Guffaws went up around the room.

“Not that I’m suggested President Harding is my mentor,” Ben clarified with a grin. “At least… not for politics.”

A steady, but higher-pitched voice cut through the ensuing laughter. “Senator, what can you tell us about your grandfather’s business ventures in England that profited from appeasement of the Third Reich?”

The voice was unmistakably female. Ben ducked his head and fished for his glass of water on the shelf, stalling. He took a leisurely drink of water and squinted through the cloud of cigar smoke in the direction from which the question had come. He could barely make out the form of the speaker, hidden in the back row behind the men in hats.

A scoff echoed in the room and some of the men twisted, trying to see the source of the voice.

“Alright then, nothing else?” Ben pretended not to hear her. “I know how you hate when I keep you from the bar. Have a blessed Easter with your families.”

The reporters chuckled in agreement and chairs began scraping the floor, signaling the end of the conference. The din rose and nearly drowned out her follow-up question, but he heard it clearly as he turned his back on the room.

“Do you maintain ties with Anakin Skywalker?”

He was nearly to the door to the adjacent office when he glanced back over his shoulder and caught a glimpse of her.

It was a slender young woman, a plain brunette with freckles and an eager look that immediately irked him. She sat forward on the edge of her chair with her long legs tucked under her crossed at the ankle. She had no discernable breasts beneath her blouse.

And she was wearing pants, even on this unseasonably warm day before Easter.

Their eyes met for a split second before he turned away and hurried through the door to the adjoining prep room.

Hux was at his side in a flash.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph- what was that ambush about?” Hux’s eyes glittered and he seemed amused at Ben’s discomfort.

Ben stopped short and turned on his friend. “Who the fuck was that… that… _girl_?!” He gestured angrily towards the door. “You’re my campaign manager, you’re supposed to know who’s here and we’ve never had a lady reporter at a press event before! What is she, some lunatic Commie from a conspiracy theory rag?”

Hux looked taken aback at his sudden vehemence. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Let me check the register, alright?”

He disappeared back to the lecture hall and Ben paced.

“This can’t be right,” Hux returned, shaking his head as he flipped the pages of the sign-in sheet. “There’s no woman on--” He stopped short and glanced up at Ben.

His stomach sank further. “What?”

“Rey?” Hux pronounced the name and furrowed his brow. “Is that a woman’s name if it’s spelled with an ‘e’?”

“How the fuck would I know?” Ben shoved his hands in his pockets and scowled. “Who does she write for?”

Hux’s lips formed a thin line.

“Well?” Ben took a step closer and made a grab for the papers to see for himself.

“The _Times_ . _The New-York-Fucking-Times_.” Hux held the sheaf gingerly out of his reach. Hux knew his friend could be destructive when the mood struck him.

He could've sworn his heart stopped in that moment. His jaw clenched and his nostrils flared and he tugged his hand through his forelock.

“The _Times_?” He repeated it in disbelief.

“I mean,” Hux tried to mitigate, “Some people probably consider it a rag?”

He was in no mood for Hux’s joking. “Find out everything you can about that bitch, and destroy her. She’ll wish she wrote for a rag if she ever comes sniffing around here again asking about Grandfather.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to @poethrotsvitha for beta'ing this, and to my cousin S., without whose brainstorming and feedback this would likely not have gotten started.
> 
> President Harding really did say that about being a woman: [A Brief History of Presidential Sex Scandals](https://www.npr.org/2018/03/21/595481693/a-brief-history-of-presidential-sex-scandals)
> 
> Stop by and say hi on Tumblr - I'm @theafterglow-writes .


	2. The Promise

_ December 19, 1963 _

By 8:45 in the evening, Rey’s room was nearly bare. Her suitcase lay open on the bed and she had doubts she’d be able to close it without a friend’s weight on it to catch the clasps. She stuffed stockings and gloves in around the edges, layering her few picture frames between her sweaters and blouses to keep them safe. 

She perched on her desk chair to disassemble her bulletin board. A Manila envelope held most of the items. She removed the clippings from the student newspaper she was particularly proud of: the first she’d gotten published, an editorial that was quite strong in her not-so-humble opinion, a mention of a commendation bestowed on her by the National Collegiate Press Board. Next, a printed ribbon celebrating Bard’s hundredth anniversary. In contrast with all that, Rey felt sentimental and self-indulgent to stop and gaze at the photo of herself with her friends at Coney Island, but a smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she recalled how they’d taken turns sipping from a flask and ridden the Tilt-a-Whirl until one of them had vomited off the boardwalk. They’d come to visit her in New York over the summer during her internship at the paper, taking turns sleeping on the floor of her tiny efficiency and even on the roof one night when it was unbearably hot inside the building. It had been a magical time, unencumbered by the reality of impending adulthood and full of promise.

Rey gently removed the pushpin from the photo of her parents and tucked them into the envelope. Her hand went absently to her throat, fingering the delicate chain of the cross they’d given her at confirmation. She didn’t know why she still wore it; they’d been gone three and four years now respectively, practically since she’d started at Bard. She hadn’t once said her rosary, only the occasional Our Father or Hail Mary, and silently looked at her hands when others said thanks in front of her before eating in the cafeteria. While she never went to chapel on campus, she supposed felt like a betrayal to the memory of the couple who’d raised her. It didn’t bother her if others took comfort in their faith. Her parents had been good people, already elderly when they took her in as a baby, and a flu had taken them both. She forced herself to move before a wave of sadness overtook her thinking of them.

She peeked out the window and her mood brightened considerably to see the snowflakes making a hazy glow of the lamps lining the walkways outside the dormitory. Her friends were due any minute, but knowing them, it was likely shenanigans occurring were along the way.

Rey flopped back on the bed, the last thing to be packed tomorrow morning. It was hard to believe this would be the last night she’d spend staring up at these beams. The four years had flown by, and she clung to the last moments in this space, in this time, as much as she looked forward to what was coming next.

She could recite the letter by heart from reading it so many times, but she pulled it from its envelope once more to review it. She still needed to assure herself it wasn’t a dream.

Better. It was her dream, and it was coming true.

_ November 15, 1963 _

_ NYC, NY _

_ Dear Miss R.,  _

_ It is with great pleasure that I write to extend you the offer of employment with The New York Times as our newest investigative journalist. We were most impressed with your work ethic during your internship with us and your application materials were exceptional. _

_ The Times has been in continuous publication since 1851 and is a leading voice for American newspapers. Our motto is “All the news that’s fit to print,” and we are delighted to welcome you to our family. _

_ If we are so fortunate that you accept our offer, please complete and return the enclosed application and paperwork by Dec. 1, 1963. _

_ We look forward to working with you. _

_ Respectfully yours,  _

_ Amilyn Holdo _

_ Editor-in-Chief _

Rey held the letter to her chest and sighed, content in the moment before a tornado hit her room.

Her door opened with a bang and the smell of snow hit her nose. Her friends burst into the room, tugging her up off the bed and stuffing her into her coat before she could react.

“We’re taking you out!” Connix declared, tugging Rey’s hat onto her head. “You can’t spend your last night here alone and--”

“And the semester’s over, so it’s time to celebrate anyway,” Jessika supplied.

“Alright, alright!” Rey held up her hands in mock defense. “I surrender -- please take me alive!”

Rose and Paige trailed through the door a beat later.

“No prisoners!” They announced in stereo, and Rey shrieked as they fell on her, tickling and hugging and gushing at the same time.

“You lucky duck,” Rose breathed in awe. “You’re going to the city like a grown-up with your fancy important job and leaving us all behind--”  

“C’mon, ladies.” Connix interrupted, already standing at attention by the door buttoning her coat. Her golden hair was wrapped into two practical buns, keeping it from getting tangled in her scarf and hood. If Rey had to assign adjectives, she would’ve called Connix a handsome woman. She commanded the room and never, ever let anyone call her by her first name. “There’s drinking to be done.”

Their booth in the corner of the pub was cozy, their coats hung up to dry as they squeezed the five of them around it once again. They peppered her with questions before presenting her with a wrapped gift.

“What is this?!” Rey was genuinely surprised. “You shouldn’t have gotten me anything! I’m just going a few hours away, not dying-- you’ll see me again. You’ll come visit me, right?”

Rose’s eyes gleamed with unshed tears. Despite being the youngest in their circle, she was prone to mothering the rest of them.  “Just open it.”

Rey remarked on the lovely paper, how neatly the wrapping was done--Jessika’s handiwork, no doubt-- and her eyebrows shot up in surprise when she revealed the present to her friends.

“In hardcover?!”

“We know how much you admire her writing,” Paige said. “I can’t believe you haven’t read it yet. I hear it’s… something.”

Rey traced the letters of the title of the cover.  _ The Group,  _ by Mary McCarthy.

“Our aunt has it,” Rose leaned forward and clutched her glass closer. “She wouldn’t let us borrow it. She says it’s…” She turned her eyes skyward, trying to recall the exact phrasing. “That it’s ‘ _ not appropriate for nice young women _ .’”

They all chuckled.

“Yeah, but who’s nice here?” Connix said what they were all thinking with a melodramatic roll of her eyes. “Nice is boring. Nice is for wifeys who settle down in Connecticut and have three kids right away and drink two martinis at 4:30 so they can still stand to fuck their nice, respectable banker husbands when they come home on the train from the city. Boring!”

Rey held the book to her chest with a flourish. “Thank you all,” she said earnestly. “I don’t know when I’ll get time to read it, but I promise a full report back.”

“Here, here,” Paige lifted her glass for a toast. “May you be so busy you don’t have time to lament not being a nice young woman.”

Rey grinned. “No one’s lamenting that, surely.”

It was a popular topic amongst their group, how they didn’t plan to follow in their mothers’ footsteps following the second World War. They refused to let themselves fall into the trap of complacent domesticity.

“Do you know what you’ll be writing about?” Jessika piped up. “Not…  _ sports _ , I hope.” She wrinkled her nose.

“What’s wrong with sports?!” Connix feigned insult. As the captain of the field hockey team, she felt compelled to defend her beloved pastime against any arrow. “Sports would be  _ amazing _ , Rey.”

“I don’t know exactly yet,” Rey admitted. “Hopefully a variety of topics, but we are coming up to an election year. That would be exciting.”

“Oh!” Connix brightened for the first time all night. “Did you hear our own Senator Solo is planning on running for president?”

“I thought he was too young though?” Rey’s honest question was drowned out by a high-pitched shriek from both Jessika and Rose.

“I have never, ever wanted to watch a presidential debate, but if you’re right-- I will be glued to the television,” Jessika gushed, hand over her heart. Or, as Rey chalked up to less-than-sober motor control, her left breast.  Her friend’s eyes fluttered like she was in the throes of ecstasy and she sighed like Paul McCartney himself was standing at their table.

“He spoke at the library in our hometown when he was campaigning for Senate,” Rose intimated. “He’s way taller than he looks in pictures, and his hands are--”

“Big,” Paige finished with a giggle. “Enormous, actually.”

“Can you believe he’s not married yet?” Connix had a sly look. “Looking like that? And so young and smart and in power? I bet you anything he has a different girl every week. I don’t blame him- if that were me, I’d play the field too.”

“We know you play the field, KK,” Paige said dryly. “Any one with grass on it.”

Connix blew a sarcastic kiss at her friend.

Rey bit her bottom lip and looked into her glass, not saying anything. She hadn’t paid much to the looks of their state’s junior senator, only to his voting record. Which was… acceptable, she supposed, though frequently more absentee as his campaign for president ramped up.

“Oh my God,” Rose’s eyes widened as if she were just catching up with their conversation. “Rey, what if you get to report on him from the campaign trail?”

Before she could retort, Paige blurted out, “It would be more exciting if she got to report from under him!”

The group dissolved into giggles and Rey took a long sip of her drink to disguise her discomfort at where this conversation was devolving.

“That reminds me,” Connix dug into her bag. “I have another present for you.” She pressed a box into Rey’s side, hidden under her own arm.

Rey’s cheeks flushed when she saw the packaging. “How did you get this,” she hissed. “I thought it wasn’t legal?”

Connix rolled her eyes, “I was blowing the pharmacy tech for a semester, alright? We never needed those, but you should use them, smarty pants. ”

Rey turned the box over under the table. It seemed so… so forward to hold them in her hand.

“Thank you,” she nodded, shoving them into her purse before anyone else could see them.

She didn’t know why it made her so nervous just thinking of having a box of condoms. It only made sense, and Connix was right. She supposed it was latent guilt, knowing the look her parents would have given her and thinking of going to confession and telling a priest that she’d had impure thoughts.

“Are you scared?” Jessika asked suddenly. “About your job and stuff?”

Rey considered, rolling the cherry around at the bottom of her glass. “Maybe? Just of starting something new. What if I fail at it? Or they decide I’m not a good writer at all?”

Her friends protested as a unit-- that wasn’t going to happen. It couldn’t possibly.

“I’m going to miss you all,” Rey admitted, propping her elbow on the table and placing her hand palm-up in the center. “Put your hands in, ladies.”

The circle of young women dutifully placed their palms on Rey’s. She closed her eyes and intoned, “Promise me you’ll never forget the good times we’ve had here. Promise me you’ll never settle or become nice young women or let anyone tell us we can’t because we’re women.”

“I promise,” they said as one.

“Amen, hallelujah, in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirits,” Connix crossed herself backwards. “Now who needs another drink?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Confession time: I haven't fully read _The Group_ myself, but this article is quite interesting on its impact on its author's reputation as an academic and on the American psyche when it was published in 1963: [Vassar Unzipped](https://www.vanityfair.com/culture/2013/07/vassar-sex-single-girl-ivy-league-mary-mccarthy)
> 
> It was not fully legal for unmarried people to buy contraceptives in the US until the 1970s (!!). Things improved for married couples in 1965, but it was a grey zone for unmarrieds until the 70s when the right-to-privacy debates got heated around Roe v. Wade.
> 
> This historic photo collection from Bard College shows candid student life in the 1960s-70s: [Peter Aaron collection](https://www.hrvh.org/cdm/search/searchterm/Peter%20Aaron%20Collection/mode/exact)
> 
> Come say hi on Tumblr- I'm @theafterglow-writes.


	3. The Orphan

_ March 1964 _

 

The cherry blossoms were in full bloom when he returned to Washington from Easter weekend, and the tourists were out in force. Hoards of identical-looking families and school groups and foreigners crowded the Mall and the Metro stations, standing where they should be walking and walking where they should be standing. The cherries were the first harbinger of summer, when the pedestrian situation would only worsen as schools let out and people began making their pilgrimages to the nation’s capital. 

Summer in DC was the worst, in his opinion. Their founding fathers had been wise in many respects, but picking a site for the capital in the middle of what was arguably a malarial swamp was not one of their finer moments. He could think of no worse time to trudge around the vast public spaces than in the fecund humidity punctuated by frequent thunderstorms.     

But today it was still glorious spring, and the young senator dodged the tourists, cutting through the crowds with a pile of papers stuffed in his briefcase and his sunglasses firmly in place.  

He loped into his office, loosening his tie after the day’s session had ended. It was only 3:30 in the afternoon, leaving plenty of hours to work before he was due at his fellow New York senator’s house for dinner. The elder statesman had invited him over several times, and while he’d always managed to avoid the invitation before, it seemed in poor taste now not to curry the favor of his home state’s established officials.

That, and a backhanded call to his father during the holiday weekend to ask why the junior senator never had time to enjoy a meal with his colleague. His father had glared at him through the glass doors of his office as he spoke on the phone in tense, hushed tones and Ben had known immediately who it was. His father found the senator as tedious as he did. Half the fun of following his father into politics was being able to compare notes about their mutual acquaintances.

“Anything for me?” He stood in front of his secretary and waited patiently for her to stop typing. He’d handed her a stack of letters from constituents on his way out the door earlier in the morning. There’d been a huge batch from a grade school class doing a civics project requiring little more than the generic form letter in response.

Maz’s gnarled fingers finally paused, hovering above the home row.

“The usual,” she sighed, gathering a pile of pink phone message slips. Her chicken scratch never failed to make him squint and her pace was deliberate, but she was unflappable and reliable, and he liked that about her. He needed a steady influence, someone to calm his brusque demeanor and slow him down from the breakneck pace he defaulted to. She peered at them closely, holding them at a strange angle to her thick glasses to make out her own writing before thrusting them at him.

“Thanks,” he replied, looking at the pile quickly. He turned away and was nearly to the door of his interior office when her voice stopped him.

“Wait.”

He turned on his heel, eyebrows raised expectantly.

She fished one more pink slip from beneath the pile of completed letters. “This young woman called again.”

Ben smiled. “A young woman?” Occasionally a woman was charmed enough to come looking for him after he lost their phone number. It had happened before.

Maz didn’t smile back. “From the  _ Times _ . Well-spoken. Very insistent, though. Says she needs to talk to you.”

His smile dropped. He took the slip without comment and entered his office, closing the door behind him.

With his foot propped up on the edge of the desk, he leaned back in his chair, sorting the slips.

Yes-no-maybe-yes-maybe-maybe.

Yeses required a response. Nos did not. Maybes were confusing, vague, or otherwise probable timesucks that he simply didn’t want to make time for. Maybe not now, maybe not ever. The latter pile was growing with each week of the campaign.

He stared at the last slip before crumpling it slowly and tossing it in the wastebasket beneath his desk. He picked up the phone and dialed the number by heart.

“What have you got for me about the girl?” He asked before Hux even had time to say hello.

“Good afternoon to you, too,” Hux retorted. “I told you, I’m working on it.”

“What is there to work on?” Ben shuffled a few folders with papers from committees he needed to review. “We need to act quickly.”

Hux sighed. “I’ve got several people on her in the city, alright? They’re just being… thorough.”

“What’s thorough cost?”

“We have enough to cover it.”

Ben tapped the butt of his pen against the folders. “So a lot then?”

Hux sighed. “I’m doing what you asked. No sense in doing a half-assed job when it’s your presidency to lose.”

Hux was right, as usual. His methodical way sometimes irked Ben’s sense of urgency, but Ben had to admit his steerage of the campaign had been spot-on to date.

“Of course,” Ben changed his tone. “You know what to do.”

“Thank you,” Hux still sounded annoyed. “Now if that’s all, I’ve got a few other things to attend to.”

“Are you coming this evening?”

“No,” Hux’s tone was downright cross now. “Phas and I have plans. A class of some kind.”

“A class?” Amusement warmed Ben’s voice. “What kind of class.”

“I don’t really know,” Hux’s voice became quieter and Ben suspected he was trying to keep their other staffers from overhearing. “Some kind of meditation thing she heard about at the university.” He said meditation as though it were a vulgar word.

Ben could barely contain his glee imagining the face Hux was making right now. His friend had always been openly derisive of a large swath of spiritual endeavors, beginning with their required chapel attendance during prep school and extending to the current craze for Eastern mysticism. He knew of no stronger critic of America’s blurry lines between church and state than his friend, who in his fervent devotion to the idea, had become something of a zealot himself.  

“Oh, I hope you enjoy yourself,” Ben replied. “I wish you could be my date for this dinner instead.”

“So do I, but I’m sure you’ll manage. And behave yourself, please. I don’t want to have to answer to the  _ Post _ in the morning.”

Ben snorted as though it were a baseless insult. “You wound me, Armitage. When have I not behaved in a manner becoming of a future President?”

“Goodbye, Ben,” Hux was pointed. “I won’t waste my breath telling you things you already know.”

Ben chuckled as the dial tone interrupted their connection.

* * *

 

Hux’s report was waiting for him by the end of the next afternoon. The pile of pink slips was larger today, a result of the impending vote about a piece of tax legislation that was sure to have a negative impact on business owners. His yes pile was sizeable, and there was another slip from the girl. He pushed the report under the stack of bills, not wanting to look at it yet. 

Days passed.

It was late Friday afternoon when his phone rang.

“Did you look at it?” Hux didn’t bother with pleasantries.

“Not yet,” Ben knew exactly what he meant. “Should I?”

There was a long pause. “Do you need me to come over there and read it to you, or what?” Hux sounded pissy.

Ben doodled on the edge of the folder where it protruded from beneath his pile. “How’s the meditation working out for you? You seem tense,” he teased.

“Fuck you,” Hux said shortly. “I’m coming over to discuss it, and you better have read it by the time I get there.”

Ben replaced the receiver in the cradle, standing up to stretch and pour himself a drink. He retrieved a second glass from the bar cabinet and poured a large one for Hux as well.

He sipped the whiskey before drawing the folder from its hiding place and opening the cover. It was thicker than he’d anticipated, filled with a sheaf of papers and a number of photos. He began reading.

His office door opened thirty minutes later without a knock. Hux slung his bag and overcoat over the extra chair and picked up the glass without comment, taking a long drink.

Ben’s head rested heavily on his hands, elbows on the desk.

A minute or more passed and Ben could hear the buses passing on the street below.

Hux broke the silence first. “Well?”

Ben wasn’t sure what to say. He held one of the photos in his hand and squinted at it. “Looks like you had more than a few people on her.”

“It’s what you asked for,” Hux didn’t waver. “She’s… a tough girl to pin down.”

“An orphan?” Ben squinted at his friend. “Really?”

Hux’s gaze was level, but he looked tired. “She was. Adoptive parents are gone as of a few years ago.”

“And young,” Ben chewed the edge of his cuticle. “She must be a brain to be at the  _ Times _ already, with so little experience?” Something caught his eye and he pulled a magnifying glass out of his drawer to examine the grainy photos of the girl. She stood waiting to cross the street in a throng of people, oblivious to her surveillance. He could make out the outline of a small cross necklace on her sternum. “Catholic?”

Hux shrugged. “The adoptive parents were, her birth certificate lists her father as unknown. It’s not clear if she still is. She was an excellent student. Dean’s list, all that.”

“So…” Ben shut the folder with a slap. “What do you suggest? She’s been calling here every day since last week.”

“Well, she is your constituent,” Hux pointed out. “You shouldn’t ignore her.”

Ben scowled. “I know that, thank you. I mean about the other thing.”

“She had you pretty rattled last week,” Hux narrowed his eyes, no doubt gauging his reaction to the information. “Do you view this Skywalker thing as a real threat?”

Ben scoffed and took a long swig of his drink, considering. “It’s not my family’s proudest moment, that’s for sure.”

“But you see how it looks, right?” Hux was using the same tone that had made them junior debate champions. He would get quiet, then work up to a point made unassailable by a mountain of carefully selected facts. “Even if Padme was right to leave him behind and come here, you’re still connected to all that, and not very distantly. There are plenty of hardworking Americans whose boys didn’t come home, and they vote. Your dad has his war record to stand on, but you don’t.”

“I’m not my grandfather,” Ben protested.

“Of course not,” Hux assuaged him. “I know that, but I know you. Think about how it sounds to… to a farmer in Nebraska,” Hux rolled his eyes. “The Nazi stuff is hot again with the Eichmann trial and Arendt’s reporting. It’s in the wind, and you can’t control everyone’s opinion.”

“I just don’t get it,” Ben picked up the folder again, staring blankly at the executive summary. “What’s it to this girl? Her mom gets knocked up by some soldier, but she grows up a-ok here. Why go after this now?”

“Because she’s a nosy, brainy reporter type, and even if it’s not personal to her, it might be to someone else,” Hux supplied. “People have the right to know who they’re voting for. I know you believe that.”

He was quiet for a moment, considering. “So are you suggesting I meet it head on? Meet with her, acknowledge what Grandfather believed, differentiate myself and hope it blows over before the polls in November?”

Hux looked away and shifted forwards with his elbows on his knee. “I have a suggestion, but I don’t think you’re going to like it.” He sloshed his whiskey on the rocks in the glass.

“Way to sell me on it,” Ben’s sarcasm was palpable.

“Hire her.”

Ben stared at Hux. “Excuse me?”

“Hire her. Have her work for the campaign.”

“The orphan!?” Ben stood and braced his hands on the desk. “Get out of my office.”

Hux didn’t move.

Ben glowered at his friend. “You’re right, I don’t like it.”

“Think about it,” Hux opened his palm towards him. “We need more staff. I can’t handle all the press stuff by myself any more. She could be the… the secretary. The press secretary. Officer. Whatever.”

“Have you gone insane?”

Hux pressed on. “Look, you keep saying you want change. What does that look like? She’s young and obviously hungry and a good writer- let her manage your press stuff. She certainly knows more about it than we do--”

“You want me to hire a green, untried reporter with less than a year of experience to manage the press for a presidential campaign? Who is also a woman.” Ben hoped that by repeating it, Hux would hear how crazy it sounded.

Hux sat back and crossed his legs prissily. “She has no family, nothing to distract her from doing the job. And she’s definitely not your type, if that’s your concern.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Ben sat back down too, lacing his fingers over his head, widening his chest and taking a deep breath. “That I can’t work with a woman?”

Hux stared at him. “You know what I mean.”

“Maz is a woman, and I work with Maz!”

“Maz is about a thousand years old,” Hux countered, sounding exasperated now. “You’ve never met a woman you wouldn’t try to fuck, and it’s charming that you’re a rake now but think about how it’s going to seem in ten or twenty years. Is that the kind of person the electorate see leading the country? No one wants to see their sad bachelor uncle trying to flirt with women half his age. You need to consider how it looks from the outside.”

“Jesus, what is this?” Ben was genuinely annoyed now. “You shack up with Phas and I’m not allowed to chase a little skirt?” His friend had never been judgemental towards him in this regard before, and hardly less inclined towards the same behavior. A tide of anger was swelling in his midsection and he huffed against it.

Hux set his empty tumbler on the edge of Ben’s desk with a pronounced thunk. “Lucky for us both, this one only wears pants, and I don’t mean that metaphorically.”

Ben was struck with a sudden urge to throw the sheaf of information at Hux for that. Instead, he clenched the folder into a roll and brandished it at him as if he were scolding one of his parents’ insipid dogs. “Get out of my office.”

Hux stood, knowing not to push his luck. “Think about it.”

“There’s nothing to think about,” Ben fairly growled.

“You need to decide, and soon,” Hux replied with his back to him. “I’ll call you next week.”

* * *

 

The weekend did little to take the edge of his agitation over it all. The folder went home with him but didn’t make it out of his briefcase for further consideration. He had only to close his eyes to picture her in the back of the lecture hall, looking after him like he owed her something. 

She was with him, nagging at him as he jogged, watched the college basketball tournament, tried to read something not related to work for a change. He had never been good at relaxing, and that made him good at his job, but it also made for many sleepless nights. The relief he had felt to sleep in his boyhood home for a few days had already evaporated.

_ Hire her _ .

Hux was out of goddamned mind if he thought a twenty-two year old should run press for his campaign. A twenty-two year old woman? She would be eaten alive. The political press were exclusively men, grizzled road dogs who lived on cigarettes and thin coffee from styrofoam cups. She was already out of her element. She looked, for lack of a more specific word, like a nice girl. She looked neat, sounded well-spoken and probably still crossed herself before she ate. He wondered what the editor was thinking, putting her on that beat at all. She was a childhood friend of his mother’s, but he hadn’t seen the woman in years. He barely remembered her, except that she was very tall and willowy, an elegant creature who spoke far above his head.

He did pushups before bed to take the edge off, counting the reasons not to take Hux’s suggestion. The idea that he was incapable of working with a woman without being interested in bedding her warranted an extra twenty.

Really, though. The very notion caused an ember of irritation to flare in his low stomach and he paused midway down until his triceps burned before moving again. Hux was right about one thing: she wasn’t his type. If anything, she was too like him to be of interest. A fellow only child, half-English but raised American, precocious and bookish.

He could work with a woman, if he had to. He simply preferred to work with men. Their perspectives were inherently more similar, and homogeneity bred efficiency. The government had too much to do for too many people to be bogged down arguing over petty differences.

He managed three pages of his book before falling asleep with the lamp on.

By Monday he had resolved to take matters into his own hands. He would meet this reporter and talk to her like he would any other. He would answer her questions and make her see that it wasn’t worth digging into his family’s past. After all, this was America. Everyone had come from somewhere else and had something to hide or run away from. It was nothing to be ashamed of; were they not all stronger for it? It was the idea of their country. You could start over.

“Good morning, Senator,” Maz greeted him without pausing from her typing. A cigarette in need of ashing was pursed in the corner of her mouth, her bright pink lipstick staining the rolling paper.

“Morning, Maz,” he smiled at her and picked up the envelopes she’d placed in his inbox. A thick stack of identical envelopes with postmarks from Buffalo were rubber banded together- another civics class, no doubt. “Good weekend?”

“Average.” It was her standard answer. Never good, never bad. Just average.

“Excellent,” he replied by wrote. She never asked him what he did on the weekends, or who he did it with, or if he’d enjoyed himself. They had, in his estimation, a perfect working relationship. “What’s on the docket this week?”

“Joint committee at 10 today, hearings in the afternoons Tuesday, Thursday, Friday, dinner Wednesday with the bigwigs from one of the banks, and the usual all around that.”

He nodded. “Thanks. When you get a chance, would you call the woman at the  _ Times _ and give her my availability for next week?”

Maz’s fingers still for a moment and the clatter of her keyboard ceased. “The girl? Rey-something-or-other?”

“That one,” he confirmed. “Thank you.”

_ The orphan _ , he thought, closing his office door behind him and putting her out of his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Passover/Easter weekend! Hope you enjoyed this. 
> 
> Come say hi on Tumblr- I'm @theafterglow-writes.


	4. A Proposal

Rey couldn’t decide if she was surprised or not when the call finally came. She was alone in the newsroom at six in the evening, polishing her draft of an editorial when her line rang. The daylight was fading outside over the skyline and her colleagues had mostly departed an hour or more ago, running to catch their trains out of the city. It was her favorite time of day to work, when her words seemed to flow most easily and she had the sensation of the work writing itself, rather than her having to force the words to the paper.

“A Miss Maz Kanata for you,” reception announced the caller. “From Senator Solo’s office.”

Rey stared at the draft in her typewriter for a moment before grabbing her pencil and pad of paper. “Put her through,” she scribbled a heading on her pad.

“This is Rey,” she introduced herself.

“Oh, hello Miss Rey!” The voice on the other end had a distinctly Southern lilt to it. “This is Maz Kanata, returning your call from Senator Solo’s office. How are you this evening?”

“I’m well, and you?” Rey reinforced her line under her date. “Thank you for getting back in touch--”

“Yes, yes, of course,” Maz chuckled, ignoring the fact that Rey had called five times before dignifying a response. She would never have pointed this out, knowing this woman was the gatekeeper to the senator’s time. “The senator has been very busy this past week, but he got your message--er, messages, and would like to talk with you soon.”

Her pencil danced across the paper and she straightened up in her chair. “That’s wonderful to hear, Miss Kanata. Is there a time this week when he can give me a call himself?”

“A call?” Maz chuckled. “Oh, no dear, I meant you should come down to Washington and meet him in person.”  

In person? He’d practically run away from her when she’d cornered him at the event at the college, and now he wanted her to come to him? Rey’s eyes narrowed at this tactic.

“Dear, are you still there?” Maz sounded quizzical.

“Yes, I am,” Rey answered. “I’m sorry, I was just looking at my schedule.” She stared into the middle distance through the hazy air, biding her time. “Would Thursday be too soon?”

“Not at all- he’s very eager to meet you,” Maz fairly purred in agreement. “But if I can make a suggestion, you should come on Friday morning. The senator’s a morning person, and he has a dinner Wednesday evening that’s sure to go late. Might be better to come on Friday.”

“Alright, Friday it is,” Rey took a deep breath, hoping she didn’t sound nervous. “And the address of the office is…?”

She scribbled quickly as Maz dictated the directions to her.

“Thank you,” she concluded. “I really appreciate the senator taking the time to talk to me.”

 _Even if it is on his terms_ , she thought.

* * *

 

Her train left the Penn station at five am, and Rey dozed for several hours of the ride before yawning and stretching her way back to life. The wait through the week felt like an eternity, but it had given her more time to prepare.

In her mind, her suspicion that the senator was less than pleased with her line of questioning was confirmed by the wait to deal with her. She didn’t believe his secretary’s logic about him preferring mornings for a minute. She was an irritation to be put off as long as possible.

She was well beyond her mandate to develop a fluff profile of their would-be president, and she knew it. They wanted a nice Sunday edition piece that people would read over bagels and coffee, probably comment on how young and handsome Solo was before using it to line a birdcage and going to play golf at the country club. But the details she’d uncovered nagged her. The senator himself said often how important family was, no doubt a calculated effort to hitch his wagon to his father’s gubernatorial success, but no other profile she’d read ever mentioned his maternal grandfather’s business dealings.

To Rey, this was shocking. Here they were, not even twenty years after Yalta, and there was a strong possibility the United States would elect a man whose family’s wealth derived from interwar investments in German companies, ones who had benefited from racist, genocidal policies by their government. She knew it was an open secret how many leaders had admired the success of Hitler’s regime before the war had broken out. Even the British royal family had skeletons in their closet with Edward’s ties to the Nazis. Was it such a leap from the recent past to question the motives of the senator who espoused widespread change but had no clear platform?   

The weather was distinctly warmer here in DC than when she’d left the city in the wee hours of the morning, and she slung her suit jacket over her shoulder as she strolled from the station towards the Capitol building. The capital had a different feel than New York: less crowded, more uniform in dress, and buzzing with a serious energy of people from all parts of the country all crammed together in a small space for a temporary stay. The cherry trees were blossoming, perfuming the air with a sweet fragrance that reminded her of the small orchard in her parents’ back yard. She paused for a moment at the base of the stairs outside the building, pulling at her shirt beneath her arms. She felt clammy and a bit damp now, hardly the polished young women she’d sculpted herself into earlier. It felt like the makeup she had inexpertly applied before dawn in her tiny bathroom might be melting down her cheek, and she wondered how the women she saw with full faces of makeup could make it stick. A sheen of sweat stood out on her forehead and she blotted it with the lining of her jacket before putting it back on.

His office was on the third floor and she dawdled down the hallway so her breathing could catch up before she entered.

A tiny, wizened woman sat at the desk, a cigarette pursed in her lips and her pink polished nails flying over the keyboard of her typewriter. She looked up as Rey entered but her fingers never slowed.

“Miss Rey from New York, right?” Maz smiled and her sunken eyes appeared somewhat wider behind her thick, heavy-looking glasses. “Please, have a seat.”

“Thank you,” Rey replied, sinking into the extra chair across from Maz’s battle station. It was covered with stacks of envelopes, papers and legal file folders. Several minutes passed and neither woman spoke. Rey glanced at the interior office door, wondering if the senator was inside. The door was closed and the office looked dark behind the frosted glass panel.

Finally Rey cleared her throat and asked, “What time do you expect the Senator, ma’am?”

“Oh,” Maz nodded knowingly. “Any minute now, dear.”

“Of course,” Rey drew her notepad from her bag and reviewed her questions.

She had arrived at 9:30, and by quarter past ten she began to bounce her foot with impatience. This was the appointed day and time, wasn’t it? She excused herself to the restroom and took her sweet time, thinking he might be in when she got back.

Her heart sank to see his office door still dark when she returned. It was almost quarter to eleven now.

Reluctantly she replaced her notepad and drew the morning’s _Times_ from her bag, skimming the day’s headlines that she’d already seen all week in draft. She peeked occasionally over the top of the newspaper at Maz, wondering if the woman had given her the wrong time on purpose. She didn’t look like a deceptive type, but then she also looked like someone who’d been around Washington for decades and knew how to play every game in the book.

The clock on the wall ticked over to eleven and just then, she heard footfalls in the polished hallway. It sounded like a man’s stride, too slow and heavy to be a woman, and she sat up suddenly.

A shadow passed by the exterior door.

Maz chuckled. “I’m sorry, dear, Senator Solo must’ve been held up with something. It’s not like him to be late.”

“I’m sure,” Rey forced herself to smile at the other woman, even if she suspected this was a choreographed dance designed to throw her off. Perhaps Solo hoped she would get tired and return without seeing him?

Well, he was mistaken.

Rey’s stomach growled audibly and the clock crawled towards noon when she next heard someone outside the office.  

This time the door opened, and she quickly folded her paper.

“New York Times reporter to see you, sir,” Maz said, not looking up from her work.

Senator Solo turned towards her, his eyes traveling up and down her person before meeting her eyes. “I remember-- come in.” He opened his office door and flicked on the lights. He held out his hand in a show of civility, ushering her in ahead of him.

The office wasn’t overly large, but it was still outfitted with the an imposing desk flanked by the US and New York State flags on either side, framing the window behind the senator’s chair. His framed diploma from an Ivy League law school hung next to a picture of his father’s official gubernatorial portrait and one of their current president.

It was a sharp contrast to her own desk in the newsroom, one of dozens lined up together with no privacy. They were an anonymous hive.

“Thank you,” Rey said, taking the seat in front of his desk. “I appreciate you asking me to come down.”

“Of course,” he replied, barely looking at her. He shuffled one of the piles of papers on his desk and seemed distracted. “You’re Rey, right? May I call you Rey?”

“Certainly,” she smiled at him. “And what should I call you?”

His eyes flicked up and he met her gaze. “You can call me Senator. Because that’s my title.”

She took a deep breath and bent over to draw her notepad from her bag. She hoped it covered the face she was making in reaction to his arrogance. “Right,” she breathed.

“So what can I do for you, Rey of the _New York Times_?” Senator Solo leaned back in his chair and braced one foot up on the edge of his metal trash can. “This isn’t the first time we’ve met.”

“Well, we didn’t exactly meet when I saw you before,” Rey began. “I’m writing a biographical piece on you, Senator, and would like to ask you some questions.”

His expression betrayed nothing, and if anything she thought he looked a trace smug at her opening. He ran one hand--enormous, as Paige had said-- through his hair, taming it to the side. It was longer than most of his colleagues wore theirs, but hardly past the collar of his shirt. In person and up close, she found he was by turns handsome and yet strange looking, and had a direct way of looking at her that made her shift uncomfortably on the wooden chair. His default expression seemed a touch angry.

Her stomach growled viciously.

“The _Times_ has always been an important supporter,” he said by way of agreement. “I’m happy to help.”

Rey glanced at her notebook. “So, you’re running for President, and if you win, you would be the youngest president ever to serve the country. What advantage do you see that being?”

“Optimism,” he stated without hesitation. “Hope for a better future, without being married to the past.”

Rey scribbled notes. “Does that mean you feel like your colleagues aren’t hopeful for the future of our country?”

He considered for a moment, leaning forward with his elbows on the desk. “It’s not that they’re not hopeful, it’s that they’re entrenched in the system. Stuck in their ways. The country needs a fresh perspective to lead it forwards.”

Her pen flew over the paper. “So where are we headed?”

“You know that’s not entirely for me to determine,” he hedged, and she could see a gleam in his eye. He was sparring with her. “But I trust this country has the ingenuity, the grit, and the wherewithal to reach her full potential.”

“Uh huh,” she murmured. This was going nowhere. It was his party line. Hope. Change. Possibility. What did that mean, though, in terms of legislation and policies and budgets? The structure of their government dumbed down ideals into paperwork almost instantly. She decided to take change tack slightly.

“This change you speak of-- how does that apply practically to say, matters of admission for colored students to predominantly white schools?”

He nodded as though she was asking a question to which there was an easy answer. Jim Crow laws were about to be formally struck down, but she knew practice lingered far behind legislation. The country was too big to enforce federal law in every corner of every state, and besides, that was the states’ jobs to police their local jurisdictions. It was both a strength and a flaw of their country.

“That’s a very astute question,” he praised her. “I feel our country needs a leader who recognizes the greatness that could be achieved if we didn’t discount the value our workers, our scholars, by the color of a man’s skin.” He toyed with the fountain pen on the desk and she stayed silent, sensing he’d expound more if she didn’t rush him to an answer. She forced herself to lean back, cross her legs and listen.

“Something like segregation-- that’s not an easy problem to solve without fundamentally changing the way our federal government treats the leaders, the autonomy of our individual states. The structure our founding fathers put in place has served us well for over a hundred-fifty years. Who am I to say it’s not working?”

“You’re a man who wants to be President,” she supplied. “You must think your perspective carries some weight with the voters, or you wouldn’t be putting yourself through this.”

He chuckled and raised his hands in surrender. “ _Mea culpa_ ,” he admitted. “A man has to be careful not to let his ambition get ahead of his ability.”

She decided to push it a step further. “If men shouldn’t be judged by their race, what of women? Are they also deserving of equal treatment under the law?”

He smiled then, as though amused by her line of questioning. “Is this really what you came here to ask me, Rey from the _Times_?”

She looked up from her notepad to see narrowing his eyes in suspicion but a grin curling his lips.

“Because, if I recall correctly,” his eyes crinkled with amusement, “You wanted to ask about my family more than about my politics.”

This was not going as she’d hoped at all. Perhaps she’d been naive to believe he would open up about his grandfather to her on a first meeting.

“Well,” she paused, “Do you think that is of interest to voters?”

“One of the great strengths of this country,” he began, sounding a bit like her high school civics teacher, “Is that we don’t adhere to dynastic rule. Our leaders are freely elected, not appointed. The people choose who they vote for.”

“I agree with you, Senator,” she interrupted his professorial outburst. “But those voters have a right to know about the candidates, too-- both the good _and_ the bad.”

“Yes,” he agreed readily. “But are you suggesting a man should be judged by the sins of his father? That we don’t have free will to decide our own paths?”

“I’m not suggesting that at all,” Rey replied, her stomach beginning to tighten. “I do think certain voters would be very interested to know that your grandfather openly supported the Nazi government to benefit his company’s investments in Germany.”

The senator scowled then, stood and walked around his desk directly in front of her, leaning back against the edge of his desk. Their feet were only inches apart, the tips of his dress shoes  pointed at hers. Rey pressed her back into the chair but didn’t move. He towered over her and cocked his head at her.

“Listen, Rey,” he began. “I know you’re new at the _Times_ , so maybe you haven’t caught onto how things work there just yet. But I’ve read some of your work-- you’re a very good writer. An excellent writer, in fact. You have a long future ahead of you there.”

He paused and raised his eyebrows at her. Was she supposed to respond to this… this… threat? Was he threatening her?

He went on when she didn’t respond. “As I said before, the paper has always been very supportive of my career.”

She gripped her pen tightly to the edge of her notebook, squaring her shoulders. His gaze was unrelenting and it felt like he was trying to communicate something to her just by staring at her. Whatever he was, she chose to make him work for it.

“So,” he continued. He spoke slowly and quietly, as though trying to calm an agitated animal. “I’m asking you nicely not to print unflattering things that would embarrass my family’s legacy. Things we-- my father and I-- don’t have any control over.”

Her mouth fell open for a moment before she clenched her jaw closed in response. “If you were as familiar with the _Times_ as you think you are, Senator, you would know its journalists print the truth-- even if that’s not convenient.”

He smirked and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I forgot how young you are,” he chuckled. “And with time, you’ll learn there’s many shades of truth. Your truth and my truth might not be the same at all.”

“Senator!” Rey exclaimed, “What you’re asking directly contradicts our code of ethics as reporters and employees--”

“Look, I understand you feel beholden to the paper for giving you an opportunity, even though you’re young and inexperienced… and a woman-- that’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he crossed his arms. “But don’t throw it away with a mistake like this right out of the gate.”

Her eyes widened at his frank assessment and her stomach flipflopped--he _was_ threatening her! “So you would silence your critics in the press? The same as the Third Reich?”

His lips hardened into a line and a muscle jumped out in his jaw. “Rey, I’m not ordering you in front of a firing squad, I’m just asking you to be reasonable!”

She scoffed, stuffing her notepad back into her unzipped bag. “Senator, there are just as many shades of reason as there are of your supposed truth-- and I’m ending this meeting now!” She bent to yank her bag closed and had to duck to the side to avoid bumping her forehead into his knees.

“Come work for me instead,” he blurted out.

She stood and hitched her bag over her shoulder. “Excuse me?”

“Work for me. For my campaign,” he stood fully to mirror her.

“I--I--” Rey stammered, not even understanding what she was hearing from him. “That’s not possible.”

“I’ll pay you double,” the senator raised one eyebrow. “You know this is bigger than your work at the paper.”

He was serious! Rey snorted in disbelief and turned away from him. “Thank you for your time, Senator, but I really have to go.”  

Her hand was already on the knob and she had the door open a crack when he caught up with her and thrust his palm over her shoulder, slamming the door in front of her. She tried to jerk it open but his weight held it fast.

“Excuse me,” she growled. “But you’re blocking my way!”

He took a deep breath behind her and she turned back to him, her back pressed against the door. He smoothed his tie down with his free hand but didn’t remove his other, barring her exit.

“We’re not finished yet.” He was slightly out of breath from sprinting across his office to catch her. His tone struck her like a teacher’s scolding a student who refused to learn a lesson.

Rey’s mouth fell slightly open as she looked up at him and she stepped away under his arm, out of reach. She clutched her bag protectively in front of her but held her chin high.

“I’d prefer we end this meeting now, Senator,” she said. “It’s obvious we’re not going to reach an agreement today, and we have nothing further to discuss.”

“I agree,” he nodded curtly but stepped towards her, into her space. “Because I know that when you come to your senses, you’ll join me.”

Rey’s blood boiled at how self-satisfied he seemed. “It’s your future at stake,” she retorted. “You could have your name cleared, or you can drag it through the mud. It’s your choice.”

“It’s obvious you can’t see reason when you’re upset like this.” His voice was quite deep and he spoke slowly. He stepped even closer, still looming between her and the door. “Think about it.”

“Good day,” Rey snapped, sidestepping around him to exit once more.

His voice behind her raised the hairs on the back her of neck, low and unctuous. “I saw who your parents are--your real parents. I’m sure you’d like to know, or--have you always known?”

She froze, gripping the cool metal. How did he know she was--

“Have a good afternoon, Rey,” he reached around her and opened the door for her, his hand over hers on the knob. “It’s been a pleasure.”

His secretary barely looked up as she stormed past the other woman and out of the office into the hallway. She walked in a blind rage until she found the ladies’ room, locked herself in a stall and perched on the edge of the toilet. She was fairly shaking and she replayed the scene in her head.

It had gone south so quick, she couldn’t pinpoint where she’d made a misstep. Or had she? Had he invited her here with the intent of hiring her all along? Either way-- the message he sent was clear, and it frightened her.

The faucet dripped, and the sound echoed on the marble tiling. Rey forced herself to breathe to the bottom of her lungs and think. It was silent aside from the sound of her own movements and the occasional traffic noise from outside.

He knew who her birth parents were? How was that even possible, unless he’d had her investigated?

She froze.

 _He’d had her investigated_. That was the delay in replying to her, she was certain of it now. Her hand went to her chest, covering the small lump of her necklace where it lay beneath her blouse. A cold feeling washed over her, but her hand was warm where he’d touched her and her arm had a strange sensation in it where he’d moved it against her will to open the door.

What _else_ did he know about her? Her mind went immediately to her medicine chest where she’d stashed Connix’s gift, but not touched it since December.

There was no way someone could know about _that_ , she reasoned, unless…

The locks on her apartment door were flimsy. She’d once been able to open it from the outside after locking herself out accidentally when her neighbor with her extra key hadn’t been home. All it had taken was a thick envelope from the junk mail and a bit of fiddling, no damage done to the door at all. She felt sick imagining it, thinking of someone in her place when she was not there, looking at her things, touching her meager possessions.

She gathered her bag and fled the building.

* * *

 

Back in the safety of the newsroom, she did what she knew she needed to. It was the magic hour, and her sentences poured out of her. She was making lots of typos as she transferred her written draft to print, but her fingers flew over the keys. There would be plenty of time to correct things during editing.

She paused only to sip at the scotch she’d nipped from her colleague’s bottle, stashed in the bottom drawer of his desk. It burned in her stomach, but not nearly as much as the satisfaction she felt at crafting the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of world leaders admired and even praised the success of the Nazis in Germany prior to and during early WWII. Even JFK himself! 
> 
> The Civil Rights Act of 1964 overturned Jim Crow laws at the federal level: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jim_Crow_laws
> 
> In a very weird turn of events, I actually sat next to a US Senate candidate at a college sporting event yesterday afternoon after buying his extra tickets from a scalper outside. Coincidence...? :)
> 
> Thanks for reading, and come say hi on Tumblr - I'm @theafterglow-writes !


	5. The Agreement

_ April 1964, New York City _

Spring was in full bloom the week she returned from Washington.

Once she submitted her draft to her editor, Rey felt a unexpected sense of relief. Her step felt springier as she walked from her building to the subway, her mood light as she poured over microfilm in the library to research her other pieces. She sang over the sound of the water in the shower to her tiny radio. That Saturday at the record store, her hips swayed with the music playing as she perused the new releases and she batted her eyes at the cute clerk. He was immune to her charms, tucking his shaggy hair behind his ear behind his hornrims and silently bagging her copy of the latest Beatles LP without a word. She supposed he thought her taste uncool, but she had loved their performance on Ed Sullivan. Their optimistic, earnest sound buoyed her righteous good mood.

Yes- that was an accurate adjective for her mood.  _ Righteous _ .

And why shouldn’t she be? Senator Solo was so desperate to save his own skin that he’d tried to hire her rather than let her print the truth about his grandfather. It was despicable what he’d done, barring her from leaving his office like she owed him something. The American public deserved to know who they were voting for, and she was prepared to give it to them.

She had left the part about his offer of employment out of the article, generalizing their conversation with the vague-but-damning  _ declined to comment on these matters _ .

There was no turn of phrase she could think of to describe his physically detaining her. It still made her stomach tense to think of it. She could still feel how her skin prickled with him at her back, how her arm remembered what it felt like to be moved involuntarily.

The trees were beginning to push out tiny green buds as she strolled beneath them, hugging her package to her chest. The weather couldn’t decide what it wanted to do, breezy one moment and muggy the next, but then that was spring. She missed her parents’ house, secluded at the end of a dirt lane in Jakku. It was so far upstate it might as well have been across the Great Lakes in the Midwest. Her friends at college loved to tease her that she was from a backwater place and she had to admit, standing here in the center of the universe, she sometimes felt they were right.

The house had been sold when they died to pay for their remaining bills and what was left of their keepsakes was still in a cardboard box in her closet. Her place was too tiny to contemplate putting them out and she couldn’t live with herself if they got accidentally broken. It was all she had left of them. Rey sat outside on the stoop for several minutes, soaking in the sunshine before the weather decided to begin pelting her with fat drops of rain.

There was only a single envelope waiting in her box with a return address from campus. She bounded up the stairs two at a time and sprawled on her bed, kicking off her shoes and tearing the letter open.

It was from all of them, each taking turns writing in a different color ink and it made her smile to imagine them arguing over who got to write next and with which pen. Things were going quite well, they emphasized, but they missed her and wished she’d come visit or vice versa. Or was she too important for them now with her big writing job in the city?

Rey wrinkled her nose at that. They were right, it had been quite awhile since she’d visited, but she’d been so busy. Perhaps she should take the train upstate next weekend, after her piece was published. She would love to see the looks on their faces as they read it.

A shadow crossed her face as she wondered if her piece would be ready in time for the next week’s Sunday edition. She had left the draft with her editor’s assistant early on Tuesday. Upon returning from DC, she had worked at a fevered pace. The  _ Times _ never slept; writers were always at their desks on the weekends, and she was no exception. She had come in on Sunday and stayed late on Monday to finish it, putting off her other articles to focus on getting the tone of it just right.

If anything, she had been too easy on the senator. She carefully refolded the letter and replaced it in the envelope, tucking it in the back of the novel her friends had given her. So far she’d not had a chance to begin reading it. She traced her finger on the letters of the title on the dust jacket and thought about her piece.

She resolved that if she didn’t hear anything by Tuesday, she would go to her editor in person. That showed she cared, and she knew he respected people who cared about their work. Dameron was a tornado in the newsroom, moving from desk to desk, sitting on the corner to talk to his authors about their work. A cigarette was always tucked behind one ear and his thick, curly hair had an untameable lock that fell over his forehead. She judged him as not more than thirty, but he had a world-weariness about him that made him feel decades older than she did. He always appeared a bit disheveled to her, yet she knew he was the office darling by the titters she heard from the typist pool in the lunchroom and the assistants touching up their lipstick in the ladies’ room.

She was always on the outside of those groups. The secretaries had asked her to sit with them on her first day, but never again after they’d learned she was a reporter. The unspoken pecking order of the paper dictated that people rarely socialized outside their functional groups, at work or outside it. Her sex made her an even bigger curiosity, and she occasionally had the feeling that the other groups of women looked down on her slightly for breaking rank.

Her telephone rang, jolting her from her reclining position on the bed.

“Hey doll, whatcha up to?” The voice was low and raspy at the edges. It was her friend Midge, a fellow Bard grad who’d snagged a job copy editing at  _ Women’s Wear Daily _ . Her voice sounded like that of an older, larger woman but Midge herself was a slip of a girl who had taken to wearing wide-legged trousers and men’s jackets in an effort to give her frame some gravitas. Midge’s real name was Margaret, a name she loathed.

“Midge!” Rey perched on the edge of her bed with her legs crossed. “How are you? I haven’t talked to you in ages.”

“Same old, same old,” Midge replied wearily. “Even writers with fancy titles don’t know their grammar.”

They had written together on the paper at school and grown to have a friendly working relationship, one that had warmed as they both struck out on their own in the city. They saw each other occasionally for drinks and commiseration.

“Maybe your fancy people who caption pictures and call it writing,” Rey teased. “We at the  _ Times _ know our homonyms.”

Midge snorted, and Rey heard the snick of her lighter. “Touche. You wanna grab dessert at The Desert?”

She smiled at the play on words. The Desert was Midge’s nickname for their favorite watering hole, Oasis. It was dark, cheap, and the bartenders poured stiff drinks. Their last visit had ended with Rey tripping after a beautiful art student to his place. She had forgotten his name by the time she woke up the next morning, and had slipped out without leaving her number.

“Meet you there at nine?” Rey offered. It was long enough away for her to take a short nap and fix her hair.

“Done,” Midge agreed. “See you then.”

Rey replaced the receiver and stashed her book on the lower shelf of her nightstand. _The Group_ would have to wait.

* * *

 

Monday of the following week passed in a flurry of interviews, writing and research, and her Tuesday morning the same. Each time she passed Dameron’s desk, she expected him to look up and say something.

He didn’t.

By late Tuesday afternoon, she worked up her nerve to approach him as planned. He was hunched over a draft, his red wax pencil gripped tightly between his fingers that he wound in his hair above his ear. He didn’t look up as she stood in front of his desk until she politely knocked on the edge of it.

“Do you have a minute?” Rey asked.

“Hmmm, what now?” Dameron continued reading for a moment before raising his eyes. “Oh, Rey-- how are you?”

“Fine, thanks,” she replied, trying not to fidget. “I wanted to check back with you about the Solo piece. I know it’s not quite what you asked for, but--”

“Right, right,” he interrupted her. “About that…” His tone sounded distracted, as though he had suddenly remembered something he was late for and she was keeping him from it. He broke eye contact and twirled his correction pencil between his thumbs and forefingers. Her middle knotted as she gauged his posture.

“Yes?”

“The chief’s going to want to have a word with you about your piece,” Dameron went on. “Her assistant will let you know when she’s got a minute.”

Rey stared at him. The editor-in-chief wanted to speak with her? About her writing? She’d met the woman once, at a welcome brunch for new staff in January, but she was so low on the totem pole she’d done nothing to merit attention from her since.

“Oh,” was all she could think to say. She crossed her arms. “Why’s that?”

“She’ll let you know,” Dameron looked up again. His half-smile did nothing to put her at ease. It didn’t reach his eyes. “Thanks for checking in, though.”

“Thanks,” Rey turned reluctantly away from his desk and walked slowly back to hers. She felt eyes on her and kept her own straight ahead.

The remainder of the afternoon crawled. Rey reorganized her drafts and folders of research several times on her desk, recopied a set of notes from a gentleman she’d interviewed the day before, straightened the pens in her drawer. She was just about to turn off her desk lamp for the day when the editor’s aide approached her.

“Chief wants to see to you,” he barked.

“Thank you,” she nodded, rising and gathering her notebook. She tried to take deep breaths as she ascended the stairs, but her stomach was beginning to tighten.

The editor’s office was on the upper floor, glassed off from the noise of the newsroom. Rey had never seen inside save for a short glimpse during a tour when Holdo’s assistant rushed them past it. She knocked on the door and held her breath.

“Come in,” the woman’s voice was muffled.

Rey opened the door and was astonished to see how large the suite was. It was big enough to house a full-sized desk, a living room set with a glass coffee table, and a houseplant big enough to be at the city botanic gardens. Its leaves were enormous: a dark, waxy green that showed no trace of dust. Rey wondered whose job it was to tend it. An impressive bookshelf sat behind the desk, crammed with volumes of every shape and size.

It was a sight nicer than the senator’s office, she noted with a trace of smugness.

“Hello,” she said, feeling like she was interrupting the tall, willowy creature folded behind the desk.

Chief Holdo looked up and smiled warmly at her. “Rey, come in. Please, have a seat,” she gestured in front of her desk and Rey could not help but notice how long her hands were. She wore a drapey lavender dress, hardly the current Mod style but Rey felt nonetheless like it fit the woman’s calm, commanding air. Her long, blonde hair was shot through with grey and was wound up into a messy bun with a pencil stuck through it. If she didn’t inhabit this glamorous suite, Rey would’ve pegged her as a artist or a college art professor.

She sank into the chair in front of her editor-in-chief.

“I don’t believe we’ve formally met,” Holdo began. “But I’ve heard good things about your work.”

Rey paused, thinking of her offer letter. She knew it was a form letter but her stomach still fell a touch to realize Holdo had not written it herself. “That’s right,” she replied. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“How are things going for you here?” The woman leaned back in her chair and laced her fingers together over her midsection. “Are you settling in alright?”

Rey nodded. “It’s exciting, ma’am, and I’m thrilled to be writing here--”

Holdo’s eyes danced with amusement. “Ma’am? You can call me Amilyn. No one calls me ma’am.”

Rey was a touch surprised at her immediate familiarity, but continued. She couldn’t help to contrast it with the annoyance she’d felt when the senator had thrown his title in her face during their meeting.

“Well, thank you, Amilyn-- it means a lot to be given an opportunity to work here.”

Amilyn rose smoothly and proceeded to a bar cart hidden behind the leaves of the giant plant. “Would you like a drink, Rey?”

Would it help calm her nerves? Rey wasn’t sure. “Oh-- yes, please.”

The editor handed her a generous pour of a scotch Rey recognized to be expensive and folded herself onto the couch. “We might as well get comfortable,” she said, patting the sofa beside her. “We spend all day sitting in these hard chairs.” She waved dismissively at the plush chair Rey was seated in.

Rey moved slowly from the chair to the couch, perching at the other end. She set her drink on the coffee table, the glass making a soft clink when it met the top. A pile of well-loved art books was stacked in the middle next to a carving that looked primitive to Rey’s eye.

“Are you liking New York?” Amilyn continued.

“It’s wonderful,” Rey admitted. “There’s so much to do, I don’t know how I’ll even manage the half of it.”

Her chief nodded knowingly. “But you’re young,” she sipped her drink. “There’s plenty of time.”

“I suppose,” Rey nodded. “Work keeps me pretty busy.”

Amilyn smiled broadly at that. “I can tell,” she agreed, taking another draught of her scotch. “Poe thought I should read your piece about our young senator.” Her eyes twinkled.

Rey looked down. “He mentioned that, yes. Is it… not up to standards?”

“No, no,” Amilyn laughed then. “It’s an ambitious piece, Rey-- it’s clear the amount of work you put into it. And if anything,” she leaned forward then and lowered her voice as though intimating something she didn’t want the books or the plant to hear, “I get the sense you were actually holding back a bit in it.”

Rey raised her eyes and met Holdo’s gaze. “It’s…” She trailed off, unsure how to characterize her findings. “Well, the truth isn’t always popular,” she finished.

Amilyn nodded, then pulled a folder from behind the seat cushion. Rey recognized it immediately as her draft. Her stomach burned from the drink.

“This piece,” Amilyn patted the folder on her lap, “Is a bombshell. You should be proud- the writing and research are both excellent. It’s really good-- it raises questions about the senator, about America, about the state of our politics, and doesn’t let the reader off with easy answers.”

Rey puffed up a bit. “Thank you, Amilyn. I’m glad to hear you think so.”

The editor’s face fell a little as she went on. “The timing is also wrong for this news.”

She deflated just as quickly, sinking back against the throw pillows and crossing her legs as she digested this judgement. Was Holdo saying they wouldn’t print her piece at all? Or just not now? Rey felt she had to defend herself and her work.

“The senator does not want this story published,” Rey stated boldly. “He refused to answer my questions about it both at a press conference, and in a private meeting.”

Amilyn smiled wryly. “Well, so would you if you were him. This is pretty damaging stuff.”

Rey glanced out the window at the buildings across the street. She had a distinct feeling of annoyance now in her gut, but she knew she had the moral high ground.

“The senator is so desperate for us not to publish this,” she went on. “He offered to hire me for his campaign rather than have us print it.”

Amilyn let out a hearty laugh at this, startling Rey. It was hardly the reaction she expected to this news. “He did? Please tell me you’re considering his offer.”

“I---what?” Rey asked. She was genuinely confused. “That’s-- no, it’s blackmail.”

“It’s good politics,” Holdo countered. “Was it a good offer?”

Rey could not believe what she was hearing. The world was upside down.

“Double my salary here?” Rey scoffed. “It seems too good to be true.”

“Oh, Ben!” Holdo’s eyes crinkled and her laugh shook her whole body.

Rey froze at the editor’s use of the senator’s first name.

“I should explain my thinking,” Amilyn said. “I’ve known the senator since he was a boy. We’re not close anymore, but my family are old friends of his. Same social circles, that sort of thing.” She waved her hand in a lazy loop as if to clarify.

Rey’s stomach sank further at this. She had the distinct feeling of an outsider looking in; near, but never a part of a world that coexisted next to hers. It was separate but still controlled her own existence.

“I’m sure you know, Rey,” she continued. “Timing is everything with the news--everything,” she stressed, making a fist. “Now? Is not the time for your piece about the senator having distant ties to Nazi sympathizers. He’s not even the official candidate for the party yet. Sure, he’s won most of the primaries so far, but primaries are just that. The first step,” Holdo shrugged with feigned nonchalance. “It doesn’t guarantee his candidacy, or that he’ll win in November, and I hope he hasn’t forgotten that.” The lines around her eyes deepened with what Rey interpreted as amusement. “It’s spring. We just had Easter and Passover. People aren’t ready for real politics yet. It’s time for planning summer vacations to the beach, for baseball, for fixing up their lawn mowers. Real, ugly politics needs come later-- say, in September.” Holdo squinted into the middle distance as if seeing the slate of articles that was to come in the fall. “Do you see what I’m saying?”

Rey stared at her. “That you’re not going to print my piece?”

Amilyn smiled. “You’re angry.”

She crossed her arms at this assessment, trying not to let her irritation get the better of her. “I’m not…. exactly happy,” she hedged. “You’re suggesting burying information I think it’s important for the voters to learn.”

“No, no, no,” Holdo quickly shook her head. “First, I’m suggesting you walk back this piece to its original scope. Take it back to your charge- a nice, neutral bio about the young senator.” Holdo paused and waited for Rey to nod in understanding. “Then, if it comes to that, we can print the rest of it in the fall. When people are focused on the presidential race. If we print it now, there’s a good chance people will simply forget or it will seem like we’re looking to tear him down, and like it or not? New York is his home state. He’s done a very good job as the junior senator, and…” Holdo shrugged. “People  _ like _ him. He’s always been a little awkward, and I’m sure he stuck his foot in his mouth when he met you,” she smiled. “And that’s because he’s threatened by you. But most people will never meet him face-to-face.”

Rey took a large swig of her scotch before asking, “So it doesn’t bother you at all that he tried to hire me?”

“Nope.” Amilyn was definite, taking a sip of her own drink. “I’d have done the same thing.”

“But….” Rey tried to protest, but the editor interrupted her.

“Rey, the other issue with your piece as it stands now, is that it could damage  _ your _ credibility more than his,” Amilyn narrowed her eyes. “It’s ugly, but it’s the way things are for now, and something like this coming from a young, relatively unknown woman writer is likely to be viewed with…” She searched for the word. “Well, suspicious at best, or downright disbelief at worst. He knows that, too.”

Rey looked at the amber liquid in the cut glass tumbler. The injustice of this truth was almost too much to bear.

“Now,” Holdo went on when she was silent. “Let’s talk about this offer.”

“He had me followed!” Rey blurted out. “I can’t be sure, but they might have even broken into my apartment!”

Holdo’s eyebrows raised at that, but she said mildly, “Ben’s ambitious. He has a lot of his mother in him.”

Rey longed to storm out now, grab her things from her desk and flee the office, but she knew she could not solve all her problems that way. She simply couldn’t believe her ears. Holdo’s passivity in the face of the dirty politics playing out right beneath her nose was vexing.

“Think of it, Rey!” Holdo’s eyes shone and she shook her head a little in wonderment. “You have the chance to do something no woman has ever done. You would get to travel, see the country, make more money that you ever dreamed. I would kill to be your age again now-- the opportunities you young women have ahead of you?” Holdo made a gesture near her head, as though her hand were exploding from it. “It’s staggering.”

“You think I should take it?” Rey realized how desperate she sounded. “What about my work here?”

“Your work will still be here, Rey,” Amilyn folded her hands together patiently. “You can take a leave and come back. Go work for the senator. Worse comes to worse, he doesn’t get the nomination, and you’ll be back here by the end of July. I know it seems like forever, but it’s a few months. Think of it like… a highly paid internship. You lasted eight semesters at college--this is the same amount of time.”

She now had the overwhelming urge to cry. Her throat tightened and she breathed deeply against the hot, scratchy feeling in her sinuses.

“You could write a memoir when it’s all done,” Holdo prompted, squeezing Rey’s forearm in her large, warm hand. “Think of the doors it would open for you, not just in publishing, but politically-- you could consult, or run for office yourself someday.”

“But I just got here,” Rey said. Her voice sounded pinched.

“Of course,” Holdo withdrew her hand. “It’s a lot to process. But this is the opportunity of a lifetime,” she stressed. “You’re both so young and have so much ahead of you.”

Rey scowled at being lumped together with the senator. They were nothing alike. She was trying to do the right thing and he was a… a monster.

“Look, I’m throwing a cocktail party at my flat Thursday evening,” Holdo rose and went to her desk. “You should come. You’ll meet interesting people. For now, rework your piece to leave out the heavy-hitting stuff and get it back to Dameron by then. This is my address,” she concluded, scribbled on a scrap of paper and held it out over her desk.

Rey rose and took her draft under her elbow. “Thank you,” she whispered, accepting the slip. The address was in the Village, not the neighborhood she would’ve expected the editor of the country’s flagship paper to inhabit.

“Chin up,” Amilyn smiled at her. “I’ll see you Thursday.”

* * *

Rey refused to even look at the Solo piece the next day, shoving it under a pile of notes in protest. She thought about calling in sick, feigning a stomach flu or even the nondescript  _ female problems _ that instantly sent men scattering with any nosy questions. 

In her heart of hearts, she knew that she was not sick and that running away would get her nowhere. She had to confront this head on, make a choice, and live with it. Her father had always insisted that she get up, bathe, and dress herself if she woke up feeling badly. By the time she had done all that, he would be waiting by the door to take her to school so that she would not have to ride the bus. It had taught her to always keep pushing, keep moving.

The unfairness of the situation burned in her midsection, though. She felt as though there was a parallel universe to the one she lived in, a dystopian world where the upper classes could do as they pleased, not follow the rules her own station required.

She was suspicious too of her editor-in-chief’s motivations. What Holdo had said seemed logical enough, but it nagged her that the woman had the audacity to air her vague connection to Solo’s family. It was as though she discounted the story entirely because she’d once seen the senator in diapers.

It was Thursday morning when her phone rang.

“This is Rey,” she said curtly. The caller was interrupting her re-editing of her work.

“Rey?” The voice was deep and she recognized it instantly. “This is Senator So--Ben. This is Ben Solo.”

She stiffened involuntarily. “Yes?” She refused to give him anything.

“Is this a good time to talk? I was wondering if you’d had time to consider my offer.”

She paused, looking around. It wasn’t likely anyone would overhear them in the din of the newsroom, but she could see one of the meeting rooms was unoccupied. “Senator, would you hold for a moment? This is something we should discuss privately and I don’t have the luxury of an office.”

“Of course,” he agreed. “I’ll hold.”

She set the call to waiting and pinged the operator. “Transfer my line to conference two,” she ordered and marched away from her desk.

The line was blinking when she arrived and she held the receiver to her ear for a long moment before reluctantly pressing the button. “I’m here.”

“Oh, good,” he breathed, then was quiet. Rey could hear him breathing and she finally cleared her throat.

“I hope you’ve been well,” he continued. “Is it getting warmer in the city now?”

“You didn’t call me to chat about the weather, Senator,” she retorted.

“Please, call me Ben,” he said. “Rey, listen-- I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

Rey snorted but didn’t say anything.

“When you came to see me,” he went on, “I think I didn’t do enough to stress how much I admire you and your work. I let my feelings get the better of me in the moment.”

She traced her fingers in the grooves of the wooden conference table. “It would seem so,” she murmured.

“You know I understand what it’s like to be the youngest and the newest at something,” the senator continued, his voice ticking up a notch. “When people tell you you can’t do something just because you’re not experienced enough, it lights a fire in you. Don’t you agree?”

Rey was nodding for a second before she found her voice. “Yes, it does.”

“Well, I see that fire in you, Rey, and I want to put it to use. I hope you don’t fault me for seeing potential and wanting to harness it for the good of our country.”

Rey stood now and leaned against the table, gazing out at the newsroom. The glass tempered the clamor and she had the oddest sensation that she had nothing to do with the scene that was playing out in front of her.

“I take my work here seriously, Ben,” she sighed. “It’s a big decision to leave after such a short time, and I feel…” She trailed off, not sure how to characterize the way his overt flattery made her feel.  

Or how it made her feel to call him by his first name.

“I know you do,” his tone softened. “Don’t be afraid, I feel it too.”

Rey wound the phone cord around her index finger. She could hear him breathing on the other end and she was struck by how absurdly intimate this moment was, playing out in the middle of one of the busiest newsrooms in the country.

“What do you say? Will you join me?” He sounded like he might fear her rejection. “Please?”

Rey closed her eyes and held her breath. When she opened them, she caught Dameron’s eye as he roamed between writers. He cocked his head at her as if to say,  _ What’s going on? _

“Yes. I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guuuuuuuys! The Beatles RULED the airwaves in 1964. They had 9 songs in the [Top 100 that year](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Billboard_Year-End_Hot_100_singles_of_1964).
> 
> Thanks for reading - I love hearing from you and what you're thinking as you're reading!
> 
> Come say hi on Tumblr- I'm @theafterglow-writes.


	6. On The Road

_Washington, D.C._

Ben replaced the receiver in its cradle and folded forwards over his desk with his forehead resting on his arms.

It was done.

She had said yes. The threat was mitigated, at least for now, and he could get on with the business of his campaign. He needed to call Hux, but relished a moment of peace and quiet before raising his head wearily and dialing the number.

“Armitage,” Hux answered.

“It’s me.”

“We got the poll numbers back,” his friend went on. “You’re ahead. Way ahead. I don’t think it’s even worth making the southern trip we planned.”

“Phas keeping you down again?” Ben asked. “I know how much you love New Orleans.”

“Our budget’s keeping me down,” Hux replied calmly, not taking the bait. It was more difficult to get a rise out of him these days, Ben noticed. “Phas is great, thank you for asking.”

“What's new with you,” Hux finally asked.

Ben scribbled on the edge of bill proposal he was stalling on. It was a bleeding heart constituent thing he'd promised and had yet to deliver. “So about the orphan,” he began.

Hux sighed deeply. “Lemme guess, she’s going to print?”

“Not exactly,” Ben continued. “She’s going to come work for us.”

The silence was deafening and lasted so long he finally asked, “Hux?”

“I’m here. I thought you hated that idea.”

“I did-- _do_ , I do,” Ben replied. “But she came down here for a meeting last week and it got… heated.”

“What does that mean, ‘heated’?”

Ben scowled and gestured vaguely even though he knew Hux couldn’t see him. “You know how it is with girls, they get an idea about something and no matter what you say they don’t make any sense. Like that.”

Hux chuckled. “You mean like you’re sounding now? What did you _do_ , Ben?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger and muttered, “I might’ve offered her double her salary to keep a lid on it.”

“Double?!” Hux practically blew out his eardrum. “When were you going to tell me about this? In case you’ve forgotten, we need enough money to keep going through October, this campaign isn’t made of money--”

“Jesus, Armitage!” Ben snapped. He couldn’t believe how dramatic his friend was being. “She’s a woman, for fuck’s sake--she probably makes half what the regular reporters do, and they don’t make that much!”

“She earns the same,” Hux snarled, “And if you’d bothered to consult me first, you’d know that!”

Ben bit his lips and huffed. This was that lady editor Holdo’s doing, no doubt. “Well….” he trailed off, shaking his head. “I can’t go back on it now, she’s expecting paperwork by the end of the week. I guess it’s lucky we don’t need to go to the South, isn’t it.”

“It is quite,” Hux snorted. “I can’t wait to see this, Ben, I mean, really. You have some nerve, going ahead with this without talking to me first. I’m going to be her boss-- you do realize that, don’t you? You’re asking me to hire someone sight unseen to work with us, day in and day out. To travel with us on the bus, be there when we wake up first thing in the morning, stay out until all hours, work weekends--”

“Yes!” Ben exclaimed. “I get it, fuck! But it won’t always be just us, and you know that as well as I do! The party has a say, there’ll be a running mate and all of his people, a Cabinet when I get elected--we have to work with people we don’t know sometimes! Ones we don’t like!”

“Yes, this is great practice right now,” Hux sighed. “I’ll have the staff draw up the papers. And I want twenty on her not lasting until the convention.”

“Fifty says she stays,” Ben grinned. “Are you in?”

“Do I have any choice?” Hux sounded sour. “I’ll copy you on the docs I send up to New York.”

* * *

 

_May 1964_

It only took two days of crossing the Plains in a bus with her before he began to fully regret his decision. Their trip to the South had been scratched in favor of a meet-and-greet tour of the Plains states, a region where Ben had less name recognition and was more evenly matched with his rivals in the polls.

The middle was his least favorite part of the country, and he wondered how anyone could stand to live here as he stared out at the endless horizon and mind-numbing rows of corn rushing past the bus. If he had his way as president, he would petition to give the whole swath from the Dakotas to the Texas panhandle to Canada. Or Mexico. Didn’t matter which. There were fewer people in these six states combined than New York City, but they still had voting rights. It was absurd.

His plan of hiring the orphan had not unfolded as he’d imagined.

For starters, the rest of his staff _liked_ her. It was beyond his comprehension. He wondered idly if they felt a false familiarity with her, having carried out the background investigation, or even a sense of pity? Even Hux, for all his belly-aching before she’d appeared for her first day at the campaign office, had taken a shine to Rey, and Phasma more so. From what Hux shared with him--and he could tell when his oldest friend was holding back-- the two women had hit it off immediately when Hux had invited Rey over for dinner at their apartment and become rather inseparable outside of work.

“She’s really….” Hux grinned absently as he searched for the word. The men strolled through the Mall, returning from lunch at a museum cafe.

“Talkative?” Ben supplied.

“No, you make it sound bad,” Hux shook his head before he hit on the right word. “Eloquent. She’s thoughtful.”

“What does she talk about?” Ben asked before he could stop himself. They weren’t together for two seconds before she began saying something, every blessed time, but their conversations were strictly business. He was fine with that.

“Lots of things,” Hux shrugged like it was an obvious question. “Literature--you two should talk about books, she’s a fierce reader. Politics of course, and sports. She likes baseball, says her dad let her play as a kid.”

Ben stared at Hux like his head was on backwards. Ben loathed sports, and even more than sports themselves, he loathed pretending to like sports in order to have a topic of conversation. Hux knew this.

Ben had also never known his friend to be so mild about anything. He blamed the meditation for Hux’s sudden sunny demeanor.

And now here they all were on this stupid, un-airconditioned bus in the sweltering heat of Kansas in early May when her laughter interrupted his reading for the third time, clear from the front where she played cards with an intern Phasma had insisted Hux hire. He was a young man from North Carolina, a graduate student in Phasma’s department. He was studying race relations throughout the United States and Hux had onboarded him with some vague title like _media coordinator_ that sounded dangerously close to Rey’s _press officer_ , but was different enough to warrant separate line items on the budget sheet. They were more nearly the same age, the orphan and this Finn, and had grown close almost instantly.

“Go fish!” Rey practically shrieked, and Finn groaned in response. 

“No, stop it!” Finn cried, “The pond is empty!”

Ben rolled his eyes, staring at the same paragraph for the third time. He was trying to read a fat nonfiction tome about the Russian revolution. He sat forwards, glancing over the rows of empty seats. Hux caught his eye from where he knelt backwards over his own seat, watching the game intently. Ben shut the book, slung it in his bag, and walked carefully up the aisle.

“Hey, Senator!” Finn looked up, grinning like a little kid at him. “Rey is aces at this game! You wanna play the winner?”

Ben looked between them. “I would hope she is, since it’s for children.”

Rey glanced up at him then, her grin relaxing to a mask of blankness. His lower belly twinged with satisfaction at having ruined her good mood.

Finn didn’t pick up on his slight as quickly and forged on, “Well, I’m telling you, Rey’s an accomplished player. She’d kick your ass--no offense.”

Ben settled sideways into the seat across from Hux with his long legs poking into the aisle and said, “Really, Finn? I’m surprised to hear you say that, especially in reference to a game that involves more luck than skill.”

Hux’s eyebrows shot up. “Practically all the young women Phasma teaches these days are already so accomplished. They study and work and do craft groups and organize activist events against the war together. It’s amazing they have the energy--”

Ben interrupted this defense. “I would bet I’ve only ever known… maybe _six_ truly accomplished women in my whole life. What you’re describing is simply the same things we expect of young men--how is that to be rewarded?” He glanced at Rey, who was glowering now at her cards, shuffling and sorting them in her hand. “If everyone does it, it’s not special then, is it?”

Finn looked skeptical. “Well, Senator, you must expect an awful lot of people if even men doing all that isn’t enough to impress you.”

“Of course it isn’t enough,” Ben scoffed. “I don’t know when we quit expecting men to act like adults. People shouldn’t expect to be rewarded simply for existing and taking care of themselves.”

Rey quietly collapsed her cards into a single plane and tapped the bottom edge against her thigh in a staccato rhythm. “Yes! Please, enlighten us,” she sounded caustic. “What must a man do to be truly accomplished in your eyes?”

“I agree with the Senator,” another voice piped up from behind Hux.

It was Mitaka. A private, meticulous type, he finally rose and turned around as well to join the fray.

“The term is definitely overused. A learned person should also have a good grasp of current politics, a familiarity with modern playwrights, be able to read Latin and….” Mitaka trailed off, glancing at Ben as if he hoped the Senator would supply the answer. When Ben did not save him, Mitaka continued. “It’s hard to define, but you know an accomplished person when you see one. They have an air about them, where as soon as you start talking, they can speak to any topic with grace and ease.”

“Yes,” Ben nodded fervently. “And they should also continually improve themselves by reading.”

“Really, Senator,” Rey’s tone dripped sarcasm now, and it was not lost on him that she still addressed by his title in front of the other men. “If you think a person needs to do all that, I’m impressed now that you even know six women--or men-- who meet your standards. It’s amazing you know any!” She flung her cards back into the deck and rose. “Excuse me, but I apparently have some reading to catch up on!”

The group was silent as they watched her back recede down the aisle and her head disappear as she pouted in a seat by herself. Ben felt their eyes shift gradually back to him, then elsewhere.

“Ben, for Christ’s sake,” Hux turned around and flopped back into his seat. “Nice work.”

Finn gathered the cards without a word, fitting them carefully back into their box and stashing them in his duffel bag beside him. He too slouched and stared out the window now in silence. A slight scowl sat upon his normally cheerful features.

Ben looked at Mitaka and shrugged, then rose and followed Rey to his seat at the back. She had taken up residence across the aisle from him and was holding a book open to what looked like the first page. She didn’t look up as he took his seat, crossed his legs, and rerolled the cuffs of his sleeves. Even with the windows open, the bus was unbearably stuffy. The wind blew threw, but it was hot and muggy. He glanced over at her and noticed, for the first time since he’d met her six weeks prior, that she was wearing a skirt.

She slouched with her knees pressed against the back of the seat in front of her, her body forming a c-shape in between. The skirt was long and loose-fitting and looked like something that she might’ve gotten at one of the little import stores that had sprung up in the Village in the last few years, the kind that carried all manners of bricabrack from tiny, primitive countries.

He didn’t understand this current trend, but people younger than himself were suddenly wearing all manners of garments from such places. Phasma frequently appeared looking like she’d just stepped out of a Turkish bazaar, cutting an odd figure next to Hux’s slender, clean-cut silhouette.

Rey crossed her legs at the ankle, her slender, bare feet pointed lazily down at her unworn shoes. A sizeable freckle dotted the inside of her left ankle, nearly at the web of her Achilles’ tendon, and Ben caught himself staring at it. He wondered if it was smooth or raised? Had it always been there? He forced himself to look outside instead.

The corn stalks whipped by the bus.

Several more minutes passed before he went to the seat ahead of hers and knelt in it, looking back over the headrest at her.

She didn’t acknowledge him whatsoever.

“What’re you reading?”

“Nothing of interest to someone as accomplished as yourself, Ben.” She sounded calm but it was easy to detect the edge of irritation in her tone. He hadn’t become a debate champion by being unable to read people’s body language.

“I like to read all kinds of things,” he replied. “Try me.”

“It’s a novel,” she snapped. “I’ve had it for months and this is the first chance I’ve had to read it, so if you don’t mind...?”

He wouldn’t be brushed off that easily. “What’s your novel about?”

She glared at him from the tops of her eyes and he swallowed. They had been in the sun the day before at a rally and her freckles stood out across her cheeks and nose.

“The characters are a group of women in the 1930s, all graduates and friends from the same college,” Rey summarized. “It’s about their lives following their graduation, as they make their way in the world.”

He narrowed his eyes, considering this. “There are multiple protagonists?”

“Yes.”

“That sounds distracting,” he judged. “Like you wouldn’t get much depth about any one character, leaving you with no real impression of any of them.”

Her eyebrows lifted slightly at his judgement and she cocked her head, regarding him coolly. “Maybe, if you’re only used to reading books where there’s one hero,” she said primly. “But I think we both know there are always lots of voices in any story.”

“Do I know the author?”

“I would be surprised if you do.” Rey’s eyes shifted back to the page.

Ben leaned even farther over, hoping to catch the name on the top of the pages. Only the title stood out at the top.

 _The Group_.

Oh, so _that_ was why she was so cagey! He hadn’t read it, but he recalled the _Review of Books_ ’ write-up of it. It had excoriated the style of the book and the skills of its author--a woman! Ben grinned.

“Is that the McCarthy book?”

Her eyes flashed but she didn’t meet his gaze. “Yes.”

“You know it’s been banned in other countries, right?” Ben recalled this chestnut from a side column in the paper. “Especially Catholic ones.”

Her necklace glittered on her sternum in the strong sunlight, clearly visible in the neck of her button-down shirt. He didn’t want to embarass her, but with her posture as it was, the buttons gaped enough that he caught a glimpse at her bra. White. Practical-looking. He wondered now if she had freckles on her chest, too, and shook his head slightly against the metal image of it.

Rey’s chest rose and fell very slowly at this remark and she turned a page before she responded. “Well, luckily we don’t live in one of those.”

His grin widened and he could see he’d hit a nerve. It made him bolder. “I’m surprised at you, Rey,” he continued. “You seem like a nice girl. I hear that book is kind of... naughty.”

Her chest heaved again and she said softly, “If you really want to discuss my faith, Senator, I suggest we do that another time.” She spoke so quietly it was almost lost in the sound of the wind from the open windows.

“Are you going to tell your priest you’re reading that?” He couldn’t resist poking at it now that it was obvious he was getting to her. He pictured her in the confessional booth, crossing herself and explaining how she’d displeased God.

“Do you actually need something, Senator?” She closed her book and straightened up in her seat with her feet back on the floor. She tipped her chin up at him defiantly. “Or are you just trying to fault me now for what my parents believed?”

She had a fair point. He was assuming things about her he didn’t know, the same as she had about him.  

“I guess that makes us even, Rey.”

He removed himself from the seat ahead of hers and returned to his own, pulled his own book from his bag and opened it to his bookmark.

The next time he deigned to glance at her, she had dozed off, a slight scowl darkening her features.

* * *

 

By the time they reached Oklahoma City and Hux passed out their keys for the hotel rooms, Ben practically groaned out loud. Hux had placed him right next door to Rey.

Again.

He didn’t know what difference it made, but he would’ve liked to sleep in peace for one night on this trip without wondering what she was doing immediately next to him or considering whether she could overhear how he occupied himself. Or with whom.

They stood in the elevator next to each other in silence.

“What number are you?” Ben asked, just to beat her to saying something. She’d barely looked at him since the incident on the bus three days earlier. It was fine with him. She kept to business, briefing him on who would be at the press events, and nothing further.

“Fifteen.” She shifted between her feet and adjusted her bag on her shoulder. For a woman, she traveled rather light.

But then he supposed she didn’t need much luggage when she barely bothered to style her hair or wear any makeup that he could discern. She had five outfits and did laundry at every stop.

“I’m in seventeen,” he offered, even though she hadn’t asked.

“Mmmm,” Rey hummed.

The elevator paused and a family got in, heading up to the rooftop pool. They were already in their suits and holding towels.

“Evening,” the man greeted them. “Nice day for a swim.”

“Sure is,” Ben replied, glancing sideways at Rey. She didn’t respond to the man at all, looking instead at the children. They had a boy and a girl, both grade school-aged, and Rey stared at them. The woman noticed Rey’s gaze and stroked the back of the girl’s hair with a small smile.

“Do you two have children?” The woman asked.  

Ben froze. Did they what? Of course, it would look like they were a couple to someone who didn’t know them.

“We just work together,” Rey answered for them. “Your children are lovely.”

“Thank you,” the woman replied and the doors opened mercifully to let them out of their prison onto the floor. They sidled past the family and continued down the hallway.

“Have a good evening, Senator.” Rey didn’t bother addressing him face-to-face. Her voice echoed off the wood of her door and she disappeared into the room before he had a chance to reply. He stared at the number 15 before turning to his own room and unlocking it.

Hours passed. Being alone made him restless and he made his way back downstairs, hoping to run into the other men in the bar.

They were nowhere to be found, so he sipped a Scotch and made small talk with the bartender while they watched baseball on the television hanging over the billiards table.

A group of Japanese tourists filtered in and left after a single round of beers. He wondered what would bring them clear to Oklahoma City. It was hardly the best skyline America had to offer.

He was three drinks deep when a young woman made her way onto the stool next to him.

“Hi there,” she drawled. “I’m LeAnne. What’s your name?” She thrust out her hand at him, bold as you please. She sounded Texan to his ears, but he wasn’t the best judge of accents. She was as tall as his shoulder when he was seated and her hair coiffed about three straight inches above her forehead.

“Ben,” he replied, noting how firm her handshake felt. She was wearing an impossibly tight pair of pants tucked into cowboy boots and a checkered blouse that was unbuttoned well past the point of decency. He couldn’t stop staring at how tan her chest was.

She followed his gaze down and took a coy sip of her drink through the straw. “You’re not from around here, are you.” It wasn’t a question.

He shook his head. “You?”

“Me neither,” she giggled. “What brings you out here?”

“Work.” He always kept it vague in these situations, but he liked where this seemed to be heading. This LeAnne had his number. “‘Bout yourself?”

“My husband’s work,” she said softly, glancing at the bartender.

If the man overheard, he didn’t look up from drying the glassware from the dishwasher. The bartender gazed absently at the television as the home team hit a homer, the dish towel swaddling his left hand as he held the glasses in his right.

“Late night, huh?” Ben drained his drink. “Can I buy you a round?”

“He always has late nights,” LeAnne pouted. “Are you all by your sweet self? A handsome man like you?”

“My colleagues have all turned in for the night,” Ben said, lifting a finger at the man. The bartender nodded and began pouring them another drink.

Another drink became two, and the ensuing ride back up to his floor was spent with LeAnne’s fingers hooked into his belt and his hands cupping her heart-shaped ass as they ground in the corner. He tugged her down the hallway, shushing her as her giggling reached a fevered pitch.

She swayed behind him, hands on his hips as he fumbled with the key.

For some reason, the lock wouldn’t turn. He leaned his forehead against the door, withdrew the key and shoved it back in. He rattled the knob, thinking it would shake the lock loose.

It held fast.

“It’s okay, baby, we can go to my room instead,” LeAnne said, loudly enough for anyone to hear.

Christ, was she trying to get caught by her husband? He was not in the mood for any such drama.

“Shhh, just a second,” he murmured. “Third time’s a charm.”

LeAnne’s hand slithered around the side of his hip and dipped into his pocket. “I hope so,” she whispered as her fingernails grazed the edge of his hard-on.

He froze with his hand on the knob. It felt so good, if he could just get the stupid door--

The knob turned suddenly under his palm and he stumbled forward, not realizing how much weight he was leaning on it.

“What the fuck, Ben!” Rey stood in front of him, backlit by the lamplight of the room. Her hair was wrapped in a towel and she was wearing a nightgown that ended just above her knees.

“Rey?” He looked at her stupidly and his tongue felt thick in his mouth. “Why are you in my room?”

“Who is that?!” LeAnne’s hand withdrew just as quickly as the door had opened and she stepped to the side to see the other woman.

“I should ask you the same!” Rey looked angrily between them. “This isn’t your room!”

Ben gazed up at the number on the door.

It wasn’t his room.

“I thought you said you were alone!” LeAnne sounded angry now too and he turned to her, palms raised.

“No, I am, this is just my… my secretary!”

LeAnne’s disbelief was withering. His balls ached when the disgust registered on her face. “You travel with your secretary? Fat chance!”

“Your secretary?” Rey’s voice layered itself over Leanne’s. “Oh, get fucked, Ben.”

“Well, not by me!” LeAnne spat, turning on her heel and stalking unsteadily down the hallway back towards the elevator.

Rey’s door slammed at the same moment LeAnne disappeared back into the elevator alcove.

Ben stood alone in the hallway. He turned the key over in his palm.

 _Seventeen_.

He groaned out loud. _Fuck_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Ben. You are SUCH a douche! 
> 
> Come say hi on Tumblr - I'm @theafterglow-writes.


	7. The Desert

_May 1964_

_New Mexico_

The phone rang, shrill and echoing in the room.

Rey dove under the pillow to escape it, but it kept ringing until she picked it up and pressed the receiver to her ear.

“Yes,” she mumbled.

“Good morning, ma’am! This is your 7AM wake up call!”

“Thank you,” she replied and replaced the phone on its cradle.

Despite the ungodly hour, light already streamed around the edges of the privacy drapes she’d pulled closed late last night when they’d dragged in from the bus.  Finn tried to get her to have a nightcap with them in the hotel bar, but she was dead tired and begged off.

To be honest, she’d had it with them all and just needed a moment’s peace.

She noticed that the Senator had pleaded the same, though he got off on a different floor. After the incident two weeks prior, she’d had a word with Hux about needing to have her space.

Hux’s face reddened to a shade nearly matching his hair when she described the situation as delicately as possible.

“Understood,” he cut her off with a wave of his hand. “I’ll make sure you’re not near each other any more. And… sorry.”

It seemed to her that Ben had been anything but sorry, choosing instead to act like it had never happened. Nor had it stopped him from going right out the next place they stopped and bedding the first woman he met there. It amazed her that this technique worked, but then she supposed she was not the most neutral judge of his character. Her male colleagues seemed both awed and envious of Ben’s prowess, though she couldn’t understand why. Hux was practically engaged and Mitaka had a wife at home; Finn was a private person but had alluded to there being someone back in D.C.

Rey rolled to her side, then pushed up in bed, gazing thickly at the room. One hotel room bled into another, and although she had only stayed in hotels a handful of times in her entire life until now, she had seen enough in the past month to judge them to be identical.

An uncomfortable chair, parked at a desk that no one used. A dresser with drawers containing all manners of lint and strings from a thousand travelers that no maid wanted to clean. Toilet paper folded to a triangle point roll to disguise that the roll wasn’t brand new. Tiny, off-brand soaps that made her skin so dry it flaked.

Rey shuffled into the bathroom and flipped on the identical, fluorescent bulb beneath a frosted glass shade that made her skin look horrible. She was getting her summer freckles, and her hair had a few lighter streaks in it from standing in the sun at rallies, watching her new boss talk.

She had begun making hash marks in the back of her notebook, one for each day she managed to endure his boorishness. There was no other possible word to describe hi--no, she could think of many. He was entitled, sexist, and arrogant. By turns condescending and conceited. When it was especially unbearable, she calculated how much she was banking on this endeavor, and that helped. At least it was something. Her friends had been incredulous when she’d phoned Connix’s room to give them the news. They had asked all manners of questions but she had left the exact why out of the explanation. She wasn’t even sure herself why she’d given in to him, especially now that she bore the full brunt of his ire.

When presented with Rey’s news, Midge had simply shrugged and taken a long drag on her cigarette before answering. “Are you kidding? I’d do it. Journalists make shit for pay! You know what, take his money--make him suck your dick for once! I’ll keep your stuff for you.”

And so her possessions and extra clothes went to Midge’s storage closet, her place sublet to Midge’s colleague from WWD who’d recently split up with her boyfriend, and Rey had gone to Washington. It wasn’t a week before they were on the road together.

At first, it was as Holdo had suggested: an adventure. She visited parts of the country she’d only read about in books, seen on maps, and it was exciting in its own way. She’d quickly grown to like Hux’s girlfriend, and the three of them hung out together outside of work, talking about things that had nothing to do with politics. Phasma was a kindred spirit, a woman in a man’s world. Sadly, Phas’s obligations at the university kept her in Washington while they were on the campaign trail.

Sure, the money was nice, but _oh_ … Rey gritted her teeth at herself in the mirror as she brushed. How she loathed him! The very thought of his smug face made her guts tense as she spit the toothpaste into the sink, closing her eyes so as not to see if it wasn’t clean.

She took a deep breath and forced herself to think of something more pleasant. He consumed her thoughts far more than anything else she could think to hate, and that was dangerous. It was bad enough she had to occupy most of her waking hours with his concerns, let alone have him control her unconsciously when they were not at each other’s elbows. She couldn’t believe he was spending his precious little time alone thinking of her, so why should she of him?

Rey arrived first at the conference room where they had agreed to meet to strategize their day.

Or, she thought she was first.

She rounded the table to find Hux seated cross-legged on the floor, his eyes closed and his tie loose at his neck.

Rey placed her bag gently on the table and took a seat, studying him. Why was he sitting on the floor like that?

“Hux?” Rey finally asked. “Are you alright?”

His chest heaved and he opened his eyes but didn’t look up at her. “I’m meditating.”

Rey fought the urge to giggle. She knew Phasma was interested in Eastern spirituality, but hadn’t realized it extended to Hux. She wasn’t sure what the difference was between prayer and meditation, honestly--both seemed like a technique to focus one’s troubles outward. She could still recite the Catholic prayers by heart, mumble them so quickly under her breath the words were just sounds and had no meaning to them. The routine of it was oddly comforting, even if she didn’t believe in it.

“Do you want me to leave?”

Hux unfolded his spindly legs and got up. “No, it’s fine. I was almost done anyway.”

Rey unpacked her bag without comment. She had observed that Hux would say more if he wasn’t pressed. He and the senator were a curious pair of opposites who attracted, almost like two halves of a whole when they were together. She could see how they had become friends, and remained close working partners even as adults.

“You have a good evening?” Hux asked, taking a seat next to her at the conference table.

“Yes, thanks,” Rey replied. “I just needed to be alone for a minute.”

Hux nodded. “It’s a lot.”

If Hux was irritated by Ben’s behavior, he never showed it publicly. Every so often his lips pressed into a line that bordered on a sneer, and that was when Rey knew he was holding his true feelings in.

Ben strolled in a minute later, his suit jacket hooked on his thumb and slung over his shoulder. His tie was draped around his neck but not yet tied, and his collar open at the top button.

An angry looking mark stood out on his pale skin out at the base of his throat. Rey rolled her eyes at her work.

“Ben,” Hux sneered now. “Really? What are you, seventeen again?”

“Good morning, Armitage. What are you, jealous?” Ben smirked and looked at her instead. “Morning, Rey.”

Rey regarded him coolly, barely glancing up from her scan of the morning papers. “Senator.”

She knew he was waiting for her to make a remark about the hickey, and when none came, he settled back in his chair and began reviewing a speech he would give later that day.

Ignoring him was the only way to deal with him, she’d found. Hardly ideal for working in such close quarters, but essential for her sanity. If she was to get through July--and as seemed more and more likely, through November--she couldn't waste her energy reacting to every childish thing he did. She could feel annoyance radiating off Hux, though, and Ben kept glancing up at his friend out of the tops of his eyes, a smile hovering on his lips. The senator caught her looking and the smile quirked one corner of his mouth.

He winked at her before returning to his work.

Rey thought she might also have to take up meditation. She resolved to talk to Phasma about it when they returned.

* * *

 

Later that afternoon, Mitaka mouthed every word as Ben delivered his speech as though it was Mitaka himself who stood in front of the group assembled in the stuffy VFW hall in Los Alamos, talking about the continued importance of the military but the greater ideals of peace negotiations and scientific progress.

It was stuffy in the auditorium, and Rey ignored Mitaka’s whispering under his breath to watch the journalists assembled. She could anticipate which sections would garner their scrutiny by when, and for how long, they paused to look down and scribble in their notebooks.

So far, there had been a lot of scribbling.

She scribbled in turn in her own notebook, devising statements to counter the challenges the senator was sure to face in the press event following the appearance.

Rey sighed. Los Alamos was a tricky place to read: an outlier community in the desert, full of transplants who worked at the lab, but even within that group, a strange mixture of scientists, career military men, and government officials.  There was a healthy number of foreign intellectuals as well and people whom she suspected were spies assigned to watch them. Their allegiances were all over the map--almost literally, Rey discovered as she researched the local papers ahead of their arrival.

She had realized quickly that neither Senator Solo nor Hux had a clear idea what she was meant to do for the campaign. Her hiring was a band-aid slapped on a gaping wound, a hasty and crude attempt to stop up some bleeding, and their early meetings had been short, tense affairs where no one was really communicating with anyone else. She made up her job as they went along, and by now she had settled into a comfortable rhythm of researching the local papers ahead of their stop. Rey spent many of her afternoons and evenings at public libraries and universities pouring over the indexes to find articles about the last presidential race. She built a profile of each stop, its major news sources and demographic information.

Mitaka and Hux in turn took her research and crafted slightly different versions of the same visionary speech Ben had been delivering since January. It was like a racecar: the wheels specific to different track conditions, a new coat of paint here and there to cover over the scrapes from the last outing, but the same sturdy body and engine underneath.

And their engine was getting faster. The more they tuned it, the better it ran. The senator was getting more fluid with each delivery, almost to the point where he seemed to be speaking off the cuff rather than giving a prepared speech. She could hear a little bit of all of them in it; Senator Solo the Candidate was an amalgam of northeastern political scion with a dash of Southern folksiness mixed with her own fact-driven sensibility. Rey rarely focused on what he was saying--she’d heard it a dozen times before they even made it to the events--but she’d come to appreciate the rise and fall of his deep voice. At times he could stir the crowd to a near-evangelical frenzy, a call-and-response pattern where they interrupted him with applause, nodded along, and even shouted out their agreement at points.

“You’re welcome,” Finn said proudly when Rey remarked on this quality. “Can I get an ‘amen’ up in here?”

Today was not one of those days, however.

A solemnity gripped the crowd, punctuated only by the occasional shifting of the men to adjust glasses or cough politely into their fists. The ceiling fans did little to push the stale, dry air around in the overfilled room and Rey could feel the sweat dampening her dress under her arms. The jacket she wore over it did nothing but exacerbate her overheating.

It was a new outfit, a minor concession to Hux’s suggestion she consider dressing more traditionally in some parts of the country. The sheath dress hugged her frame and the short bolero jacket over it gave her the illusion of more of a waist than her naturally slender figure bore.

The dress set was also mostly polyester and terribly warm, not breathing like a linen or even wool suiting might have done. She would need to investigate a different one when they got home and she had more options.

“And so I ask you, gentlemen--”

The phrase snapped her out of her thoughts about how warm she felt. It signaled the beginning of the last printed paragraph, one that normally got the crowd on its feet and clapping.

“... than us to shape the future of America? If not now, when? Thank you for coming, and I’d love to talk to you afterwards. Have a lovely evening!”

The round of applause was polite, if short. The din rose in the room as most of the audience stood and stretched, then filed to the exits. Mitaka rushed to the front of the room to confer with Ben, no doubt offering pointers on how to handle the press questions.

She caught Hux’s eye across the room and he shook his head ever so slightly. _Not our best day_.

They all felt it when the event was rough. Rey hadn’t played a team sport since she was a girl, but it felt the same as losing even when she’d been stuck on the bench. One of them was all of them.

She rounded the journalists up and herded them into a smaller room and began fielding their questions as they waited for the senator to arrive.  

Rey unbuttoned her jacket, trying to get more air on her sweaty skin. She regretted wearing pantyhose in this dry, desert climate. The heat was oppressive. She could feel her pulse in her temples and she rolled her neck as she responded by rote to their typical questions. She sensed their wariness of her, a woman, answering for the man they really wanted to speak to. It was nothing new, but it was still irksome.

At last the senator appeared in the doorway and she stepped aside to make room for him at the podium.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” Ben began, straightening the microphone up to better match his height.

Rey moved to the back of the room, wishing she could remove her jacket. Her head felt so very heavy, and she leaned against the wall with her chin on her chest. She was keenly aware of the sweat soaking her underwear between her legs and her shoes pinched her toes.

The last thing she could remember was noticing dark spots encroaching at the edge of her vision, then blackness.

When she awoke, she was alone in an office, sprawled out on a leather chaise lounge. Her jacket had been removed and draped over her legs, and a stack of damp paper towels were pasted to her forehead and to the back of her neck. Rey scowled at the framed diplomas on the wall and she shifted uncomfortably. Her head pounded. With the overhead light extinguished, the only source of light in the room was a small lamp on desk and the sunlight from a high, oblong window over her head. By it, she judged that it was still late afternoon.

Where was she? And where were the others? It was hard to hear anything outside the closed door over the sound of the fan that had been pointed at her, but eventually she heard footsteps approach and the door opened a crack.

It was Finn.

“Hey, peanut,” his smile lit up his whole face. “You’re awake!”

“Finn?” Her voice sounded like a croak. “Why am I in here?”

“Relax, Rey,” Finn said, slipping inside the door and closing it behind him. He drew the office chair close to her and sat down. “You got overheated and passed out. You just need to rest for a minute.”

Rey continued scowling at him. “The press conference--”

“--is mostly over,” Finn adjusted the towels on her head. “It’s fine. Everything’s under control.”

She felt embarrassed to be mothered like this. She had never fainted before and was desperate to get up and back to work.

“How’d I get in here?” Rey eyed Finn suspiciously. She noticed then her shoes were off, too, tucked neatly beneath the edge of the couch.

Finn paused, fanning her with a folder. “The Senator carried you.”

She wanted to die. She pictured herself slung over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, ass up in the air for all the men to see. Maybe pantyhose hadn’t been such a bad idea.

“He what?”

“Yeah,” Finn chuckled. “He carried you in here like a blushing bride across the threshold. No one else was strong enough to pick you up, so that was lucky.”

Rey’s cheeks reddened even under the cool towels. He’d... carried her? Somehow the thought of him being tender was even worse than--

The door opened then and Ben’s frame filled it. Backlit by the fluorescents of the hallway, he appeared nearly as wide as door itself.

 _Kill me_ , Rey thought. _This is worse_.

“She’s alive!” Finn said, his tone falsely bright. “Nothing to see here!”

“How’re you feeling?” Concern creased the senator’s forehead and he stood over her feet like a concerned parent with a feverish child. She felt a nervous energy issuing from him, and it made her anxious in turn.

The office was so tiny for three adults, let alone when one of them was the size of a Sasquatch.

“I’m fine, really--” Rey struggled up to a sitting position and made to remove the clump of paper towels at the nape of her neck that threatened to slither down the back of her dress.

Both men spoke at once, insisting she lie back and take it easy. She reluctantly sank back against the backrest but refused to lie all the way down again.

“Finn, do you mind?” Ben tipped his chin at the door.

Finn was oblivious to the cue. “Rey, you’ve gotta take it easy for a few. You hit your head when you fell.”

“Finn.” Ben cleared his throat and motioned towards the door once more.

Finn glanced up and said, “Senator, why do you keep doing that--” He mimicked the gesture Ben was making. “That--? What is that?” He seemed genuinely confused by Ben’s attempt to excuse him from the room.

“Finn, I think the senator wants to talk to me,” Rey finally interrupted, glancing up and making the briefest eye contact with the senator. “Alone.”

Finn looked between the two of them and his outstretched hand slowly curled into a fist. “Oh, right--of course,” he nodded vigorously. He stood and skirted around Ben out the door. “We’ll just be out--”

“Thank you!” Ben called as he shut the door between them. He shook his head as he turned back to her and plopped in the chair Finn had just vacated.

The silence was cut only by a squeak in the fan’s mechanism as it oscillated from side to side and the occasional bird call outside.

Rey looked around the office, not wanting to make eye contact. If he had a smart remark for her now about the capability of women, she would knee him in the balls.

Instead, he only said, “You had us pretty worried. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

Rey glanced up at him and saw no trace of malice in his expression. His eyes were relaxed and she noticed how light brown they were. He reminded her of a puppy waiting on its master.

“Thanks,” she muttered and picked at a lint ball on her dress. “Finn said you carried me in here.”

Ben crossed his arms and shrugged. “You weigh about a thousand pounds as dead weight.”

“Sorry I’m such a cow,” Rey retorted.

“I’m kidding,” Ben chuckled. “I’m just glad you’re alright.” His face turned serious all of a sudden. “I mean… we need you, kid.”

Rey’s heart constricted sharply at this term of endearment and she reached up to adjust the towels on her forehead to distract herself from the twinge that shot through her middle.

“Here,” Ben leaned forward and pulled them away, cupping her brow in his giant palm and then turning the back of his hand against it to gauge her temperature. His hand was very warm and she froze at the unexpected contact. She closed her eyes and let him press her head back against the cushioned backrest.

Rey’s breathing stuttered and she had the strongest memory of her father standing over her in the half-light of early morning, smoothing her hair back from her face and placing a kiss on her temple before he went off to work. Sometimes she struggled to picture his face but she could conjure the feeling of his touch in that moment. Her eyes became hot and scratchy feeling in a flash.

The weight of Ben’s hand lifted and her eyes fluttered open.

“The doctor says it’s serious, but I think you’re going to live,” Ben looked down and away as he sat back. “Good thing too, because we’re not done with this trip just yet.”

Rey looked away, willing the tears that had collected in her eyes to subside. “I know. The show must go on.”

Ben smiled broadly at that. “C’mon. The circus is waiting.”

They settled in on the bus for the long overnight haul to Salt Lake City, their last stop before flying back to Washington. After everyone expressed their concern and relief at her being okay, they all retreated to their respective seats to sulk in peace at how the event had gone. Her fainting had interrupted the normal feedback loop, and she sensed they were all willing to simply leave Los Alamos in the dust.

She closed her eyes and tried to doze off, but found she was wide awake. The sluggish, nearly drugged feeling that had suffused her limbs immediately after getting up had worn off, and a nervous energy coursed through her now.

Rey reached up and flipped on the light above her, then pulled her bag from its place beneath the seat. _The Group_ was just starting to get interesting. The mise en scène was over, and now she was eager to see how these women got on in their young lives.

She strained to reach the end of the duffel bag where she’d stashed the book but her hand only met the material of the bag. Frowning, she dragged it up onto her lap and held the zipper wide to peer inside the shadows.

Where was her book?

Rey rummaged through her bag once more, even taking out the pile of folders a second time to look beneath them.

It was gone. It was truly gone. She slumped back in the seat and stared out the window.

“You alright over there?”

She glanced across the aisle and back a row at the senator. He read a slender, paperback volume whose cover she couldn’t see.

“I think I left my novel at the hotel,” Rey said glumly. “And it was a gift from my friends when I graduated.”

Ben bookmarked his page before sitting up and looking at her fully. “Do you want to borrow mine?”

She studied him in the near-dark. Was he serious?

“I don’t want to take your book--you’re reading it.”

He shrugged. “I have others. This one’s just for fun. But… maybe you wouldn’t like it anyway.”

“I like to read all kinds of things,” Rey parroted his insult back to him. “What is it?”

Ben rose without answering her barb and handed the paperback across the aisle.

She grasped the bottom edge with her fingertips to steady it and read the cover.

“Poetry?” She smiled up at him. “I wouldn’t have pegged you for a poetry reader, Senator.”

He pulled the book back and rolled it in his hand. “You don’t have to take it,” he replied. She couldn’t read his expression in the dark to tell if she’d hurt his feelings.

“But,” he went on, “Poetry is better if you hear it out loud. It’s meant to be read out and listened to.”

He was so earnest she had no choice but to zip her bag, stash it beneath the seat, and let him sit down next to her.

He cleared his throat and flipped back to the first page. He glanced at her to make sure she was paying attention before beginning.

She had read this poem before--quite a long one, she recalled--and had not particularly cared for it. The imagery was harsh; written ten years after the end of the second World War, it told of a lost generation of Americans, not thriving in wake of the country’s victory, but ones stumbling through their existence, addled and addicted and alone.

He read the first few stanzas hesitantly, as though he was unsure of them.

_I saw the best minds of my generation, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for a fix,_

_angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night..._

Once he settled into the rhythm of the language though, the staccato consonants and polysyllabic phrases piled so densely together, he began to relax into it and she closed her eyes lightly and let his reading transport her.

Rey walked barefoot alongside the junkies, crawled on her hands and knees to a dirty mattress in the corner of an empty room to stare up at the ceiling, heard the wail of a lone trumpet in a jazz club as she twined with a stranger as desperate as she for any meaningful, human contact. Her imagination of this dark, parallel America was only punctuated by her noticing how his voice sounded, warm and mellifluous and enticing, beckoning her into this underworld from which there would be no escape.  

By the time Ben reached the final section where the poet called out to Carl Solomon, the cadence of his words and the thrum of the wheels against the endless pavement had rocked Rey to sleep.

* * *

Rey did not awake until nearly eleven the next day. She curled on her side against the scratchy white sheets of the hotel bed and stared at the lamp on the bedside table.

The remnants of a dream clouded her thoughts, so vivid it lingered in her limbs. She closed her eyes, trying to will herself back to sleep to pick up where it had left off. An ache settled into her low belly and between her legs, throbbing in time with her heart. She could still feel a man’s hands on her, holding and stroking her flesh and parting her legs. Desperate to follow it to its conclusion, she snaked her hand between her own thighs and rolled onto her stomach, bucking her hips against her palm.

Her dream had not supplied her with a man’s face. He had lain behind her, curling his body to hers and murmuring his intentions against her ear. The sensation of his breath against her cheek felt unspeakably erotic, moreso than his fingers plucking at her hardened nipples or the tip of his manhood sliding against the slick between her legs.

She chased it, her eyes scrunched tight as she fell into a half-dream state once more. She pressed her cheek to the sheet and bit her lip, fucking and letting herself be fucked by this faceless presence. Already so aroused from waking out of the dream, her build-up was short and she came so hard she tasted a touch of blood on her tongue, determined not to make a sound.

Rey relaxed against the bed, finally spent. Her breathing regulated and she drifted in and out of sleep, still feeling traces of hands caressing her sides and cleft of her rear.

The man nuzzled her neck and Rey shuddered with delight at the sensation of his whiskers scratching her tender skin.

“I guess I was wrong about you, Rey. You seemed like a nice girl.”

Her eyes popped open and she went stiff in recognition of the voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello lovelies! The poem that Ben reads is Howl, by Allen Ginsberg. Full text can be found here: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/49303/howl
> 
> Come say hi on Tumblr - I'm @theafterglow-writes. I love hearing from you! Things are just starting to get good for our OTP! ::rubs hands together gleefully::


	8. The Beach

The elevator ride to the ground floor of the Hotel Utah lasted an eternity with neither of them speaking.

Ben observed her closely in his peripheral vision. Rey had boarded the car from a lower floor, her sunglasses already firmly in place. The glasses were large, very dark, and took up half her slender face.

“Morning,” he tried, but she had merely nodded at him. The briefest scowl wrinkled her forehead but otherwise, her face remained a blank mask.

He cleared his throat and shifted his weight between his feet. So they were back to barely speaking. Perhaps she was embarrassed at the preceding day’s events? Was it at falling asleep against his shoulder or fainting in front of him? He decided not to press. He was already counting the hours until they boarded the plane back to the coast, thinking of the stack of things Maz had no doubt accumulated in his absence. Summer congressional recess was approaching, and it would be the last time before the convention they’d have a moment to breathe.

The elevator doors opened to reveal Hux and Mitaka pacing with a pile of morning papers in their arms.

“Morning,” Ben had barely greeted them when Hux thrust a newspaper in front of them.

“Look at this,” Hux was breathless and grinning.

Rey huffed beside him to see the headline, moving her sunglasses to the top of her head.

Ben grasped the paper and read it aloud. “Senator Solo Carries More Than Early Primaries.”

The photo accompanying the article told the whole story, him ducking through a sea of reporters snapping photos as fast as they could wind their film while he cradled Rey in his arms. It looked very dramatic in black-and-white, the light color of her dress against his dark suit. Her limbs hung limp and one shoe clung to her toes, the heel loose from her foot.

“Jesus Christ,” Rey muttered. A woman seated next to their group shot her a dirty look at her language but said nothing.

“No,” Hux shook his head and pointed a lit cigarette at them before taking a satisfied drag. “This is _amazing_ , you two. You couldn’t have bought better publicity--no offense, Rey. The papers are glowing about your minor show of chivalry and seem to have completely forgotten what a dog you really are.”

“We’re in public,” Ben hissed, folding the paper in his hand and stepping closer to his oldest friend. “Keep your voice down.”

Hux’s smile was so smug, Ben had the urge to clock him.

“Nope! No, I will not be quiet, Sir Benjamin Solo. You are America’s knight and everyone knows it.”

Ben clenched his free hand into a fist, glowered at Hux and glanced at Rey. She slid her sunglasses back onto her face and edged a bit away from them, as if three more feet could disguise her from being associated with him.

People in the lobby had already noticed their group and were pointing and whispering behind their hands, glancing over their newspapers and books. Even a pair of young missionaries clad in identical suits slowed their hurried shortcut through the building to the temple square to gawk at them.

“Let’s get out of here,” Rey said plainly. “We’re already running late for the panel. They’re expecting you at one and it’s twelve-thirty.”

Ben sighed. He was due to speak at a policy institute at the university, part of some symposium on legislative neutrality. Whatever that meant. It was Mitaka’s event and Ben suspected Mitaka owed someone to bring them all out to this strange city in the desert.

“Rey’s right,” Dopheld’s grin was still a mile wide. “We should go.”

Ben tucked the newspaper under his arm, grabbed his briefcase and nodded. “Lead the way, then!”

* * *

 

_June 1964_

_Washington, D.C._

The solstice having just passed, it was finally summer in Washington. The humidity clung to everything, air conditioners dripped onto sidewalks, and there was nothing to do but hide inside with a fan on, roll up the proverbial and literal shirt sleeves, and sip some iced tea to avoid the throngs of tourists on the mall.

It was nearly five-thirty when the phone in his office beeped.

“Governor Solo for you,” Maz stated. She distinguished his father from the sitting state governor by calling that man simply, _the governor_.

“Thanks, Maz.” Ben waited for the click indicating she’d transferred the call before continuing. “Hey, Dad, how’re you?”

“Ben!” Han exclaimed. He always sounded slightly out of breath when he called, like he’d just run in from outside the house and dashed to the phone. “How are you, kid?”

Ben both loved and hated how his father never answered direct questions. “Doing alright, how’s Mother?”

“Out in back, reading,” Han supplied. “Summer novel season, she says.”

“That’s good. Are you two at the beach?”

The beach was his parents’ name for the estate in the Hamptons they’d purchased after Han’s second term as governor had started. Ben preferred their house upstate and hadn’t made it out to the beach in several years, and that was fine by him. It had the right zip code but was hardly in the most exclusive area, as it faced the bay instead of the ocean. Han loathed it, but his mother was in her element there, lunching and day-drinking and fully making people forget that the Skywalker-Solos weren’t third generation residents from the right old money families. She carried herself with the air of a long-lost princess, vague royalty from a faraway place holding court as they summered in the New World. The regular residents ate it up, bored with the usual drama of the New York society scene and Leia was more than happy to oblige. Ben supposed it was her English upbringing, and her accent came through more strongly after several rounds of cocktails had diluted the filter of thirty years in America. Before she had died, his grandmother had especially loved the beach house.

“You should come out for the Fourth,” Han suggested, still sounding winded. He proposed plans as if each detail was just occurring to him, and they escaped him in short, breathless puffs. “All of your people. You guys deserve a break.”

Ben paused. All of them? At the beach? The house was large but--

“I don’t know, Dad, we might need to stick around--”

“Have you carried any girls lately?” Han chuckled at his own joke. “Your mother wants to meet your gal. Preferably when she’s conscious, but your mom’s not picky at this point.”

“It’s not like that, Dad,” Ben cut his father off. “She’s my press offic--”

“Mmmmhmm,” Han interrupted. “So ride the train up on Thursday, spend the long weekend here. We’ve got room.”

Ben hesitated, forcing himself to lean back in his chair. He had a strange feeling about his parents’ motivations for inviting the campaign there. Moreover, he resented his mother’s meddling in his romantic life. The Hamptons represented a minefield of eligible young women from the right families. They were so uniform in their perfect rightness as to be utterly boring. He had no interest in them whatsoever.

At least… not past one day or so.

Besides, he was certain Rey hated him by now. She did her job, and did it well, but she barely gave him the time of day.

And why should she? They had a working relationship, no more, no less.

“I’ll think about it,” he sighed. “But the others may have plans with their own families--”

“Good,” Han said with an air of finality. “Let us know when you’re coming, we can pick you up at the station in town.”

“Talk to you soon, Dad,” Ben concluded. “Say hi to Mother for me.”

“Will do, kid,” Han’s tone was warm and a touch gruff.

Ben replaced the receiver, threaded his fingers together over his head, and stared up at his father’s portrait on his wall. Han had been ecstatic when Ben had won the junior Senate seat vacated by Ben’s predecessor’s retirement. Leia’s reaction had been harder to gauge, though he sensed she liked the cache of having a son in politics in her adopted country. She had followed his father home to the States, and never gone back to England, but he supposed her son following in his father’s footsteps appealed to her sense of dynastic rule. His grandmother had come to live with them when he was a baby in the 1930s.

He picked up the phone once more and dialed Hux direct. He relayed his father’s invitation, careful to make it sound as unappealing as he could. Long way, short stay, obligation of socializing with his parents, too much togetherness with work people--

“We’d love to,” Hux replied immediately. “I can’t speak for everyone, of course, but you know how Phas loves your folks. Especially your mom.”

“Can you ask the others?” Ben twirled his pen between his first and middle fingers. “I don’t want it to seem like an obligation.”

“Why don’t you come over here,” Hux suggested. “Everyone’s still working. You can just ask them yourself.”

The clock crept towards six and Ben could see the shadow of Maz gathering her things in the lobby of the office.  

“Alright, I’ll be there in ten,” Ben acquiesced. “Don’t hold people over if I don’t make it in time.”

“Bring your umbrella,” Hux replied. “It looks like a thunderstorm.”

Ben twisted in his chair and observed the clouds threatening outside. Perhaps it would bring a cool evening breeze? He was so very tired and the idea of sleeping away Friday night was appealing, the window cracked open to let in some fresh air for once.

“Thanks, see you in a bit.”

Outside the office, Ben hopped the bus just as a few drops began to fall from the sky. The heavens opened and it began to bucket, the kind of pelting summer rain that made the sidewalks steam and gutters overflow with the sudden onslaught. They passed clusters of pedestrians who huddled together under trees and shared umbrellas to try to stay dry.

They reached the stop quickly, but it was still raining so hard no one wanted to disembark. The driver simply closed the doors, put the hazards on and waited for the squall to pass. They could already see sun beyond the edge of the storm clouds, but where they were sitting, they needed an ark.  

The water sluiced down the windshield of the bus and the glass steamed, blocking their view outside. His fellow passengers groaned, some of them using forearms to clear the windows and stare out at the storm.

Ben sank back into his seat and suddenly he was twelve again, sitting next to his father in the front seat of the Falcon watching a downpour.

_1946_

_Upstate New York_

_His father guided the car to the curb just outside the gate of the school and killed the engine. Without the sound of the motor, the rain seemed loud and their breath began to fog the windshield._

_It was a long time before Han spoke._

_“You’re welcome to call us any time, Ben,” he began, sounding gruff. Ben recognized the tone instantly. It was the one his father used when anything emotional needed to be discussed._

_Ben looked at his hands, saying nothing. He was too big now to cry. That was for babies, and he was almost a teenager. His mother had stayed home with his grandmother while his father drove him to the new school. She’d barely looked at him as he’d hugged her, his chin on top of her head. If she would miss him, she didn’t show it._

_“It probably seems tough now,” Han continued. “But you’re going to meet lots of other boys here that will get to be friends.”_

_Still bare, the black tree branches clawed at the sky, but the lawn leading up to the main three-story stone building of Cambridge Preparatory for Boys was a vivid, almost-neon green. Ben said nothing. He resented this pep talk. What did Han know about boarding school anyway? He’d been an orphan, shuffled from home to home before he’d run away and lied about his age to enlist in the Army. He’d barely gone to school at all, let alone a fancy boarding school hours away from home._

_Plus, it was March. It wasn’t the beginning of the school year. Things were all wrong for making friends, and Ben knew it. He also knew in the two months since Han had been sworn in as governor, he had been a perfect shit to his mother and Grandma Padme. With his father in the city and off to Albany so often, he’d taken to cutting class, lying about his homework being done, and refusing to join them at the table for dinner. He knew it was wrong but did it anyway. He owned that much._

_Though it was out of his control, he also felt like it somehow had to do with his recent growth spurt; he was suddenly taller than both of the women, a skinny but hulking presence with ears that looked like the radar dishes in the space comics he had shoplifted from the newsstand with his friend Jimmy. He felt clumsy, too big for their house and his clothes and their seemingly neat life. He had gone from a polite, well-spoken asset to his father’s illusion of American family life during his campaign to an afterthought almost overnight._

_It was his own fault in a way that he was here in the stupid rain with his stupid father, being sent away to this stupid boarding school._

_“Ben?”_

_He turned towards his father._

_“Are we going in?” He didn’t blink, knowing if he did, the tears that filled his eyes to the brim would fall._

“Senator?”

Ben looked up and realized the bus driver was waiting for him to get off. The other riders looked annoyed at him holding up their commutes.

“Lou, sorry!” Ben exclaimed and jumped up. He rode the route often enough that he knew the man’s name.“Thanks for waiting. Have a good weekend, you hear?”

“Same to you,” Lou replied, nodding at him in the mirror.

* * *

 

_July 3, 1964_

The trains going towards the beach were packed on Thursday afternoon. Instead of emptying out as they left the city station, each stop along the way through Long Island  saw the addition of another family, another couple, more luggage and more chaos until he shoved his book back in his bag in frustration, unable to keep the thread of the narrative with so many interruptions. The seats across from him were occupied with a young couple shepherding twin boys not more than three years, two perfectly blonde, cherubic-looking children who were intent on drawing on anything that stood still with their stubby, peeling crayons. Ben offered to give them his seat but they insisted there was room for all of them, that they didn’t want to bother him. He folded his long legs into the aisle and made himself as small as possible.

He’d rung his father from the pay phone to let him know what train they were on. The boys had dispersed throughout several cars to find seats, and Rey had ended up a few rows ahead of him, facing away. She tried to read as well, but last he’d noticed her, she sat with her head tilted back against the headrest, eyes closed and her hands folded neatly over her crossed knee. If she could sleep through the bedlam that surrounded them, well-- he envied her.

Her agreeing to come on this trip had made his stomach sink. She’d looked miserable when he’d presented the idea at the office ten days prior, but had nodded yes, she’d come. He supposed she might have had other ideas of what to do with a rare long weekend away from the campaign, but Hux had lobbied her that Phasma would join them, and Mitaka’s wife as well. If lack of female companions was her hesitation to say yes, she hadn’t remarked on it.

She arrived at the train station early, and the two of them had made awkward small talk as they waited for the others to arrive. It covered the polite bases, but nothing more.

_Have you ever been to the beach?_

_No, but I hear it’s lovely._

_It is, it is. Did your family travel anywhere in the summers?_

_Just Niagara Falls, a few times._

_You know, I still haven’t been._

_Oh, you should go some time. It’s impressive._

He didn’t understand it, but the longer they worked together, the more enigmatic she became to him. In some odd way, starting off with what seemed like so much personal information about her--of which she still did not know the extent--had not hastened their understanding of each other. It served to make her even more mysterious to him. A mountain of facts about her did little to advance their understanding of one another beyond pleasantries.

The one moment of honest connection they’d had after she’d fainted in Los Alamos stood out like the tip of an iceberg above water.

Ben tucked his chin to his chest and scrunched even more towards the aisle as one of the twins set to defacing the center armrest with a purple crayon. The boy’s mother was occupied his brother, and their father smiled wryly at Ben as if to say, _what can you do?_

Ben gave the man his best campaign smile but secretly wondered why they did not curb the boy.

They reached their station by four-thirty and found Han waiting in the lot alongside their butler with two cars to carry them and their things back to his parents’ place.

“Ben!” Han’s voice cut through the fray and his father barreled forwards to clap his hands on Ben’s shoulders in greeting. Han hadn’t hugged him since he was a boy, instead offering up a repertoire of back pats, handshakes and shoulder squeezes that hinted at a deep affection but never fully betrayed it. He’d first noticed it when he observed other boys’ families at school, and for a time, he had been deeply envious of the way other men embraced their sons.

Ben was used to by now and merely gripped his father’s forearms in return. “Hey, Dad, how are you?”

“Armitage!” Han was already moving on down the line, greeting Hux and Phasma in turn like the old friends they were.

“Sir, I must say.” The butler’s voice came from his other side and he turned to face the man. “You’re looking as though you could use a rest, and I hope you don’t mind my saying so.”

“Tony,” Ben pulled the slender blonde man into a hug. “It’s been a long spring.”

The butler had followed his grandmother from England to America, and had lived at the beach as long as his parents had had the place. He stayed in the winters even as Han and Leia decamped to warmer climates, and if Ben was honest, Tony was the only thing he missed about the beach when Ben was away from it. His presence represented a continuity in the family from one generation to another. Tony was an indeterminate age older than his parents but younger than his grandparents, had never married, and was a consummate domestic professional the likes of which was scarce in the States.

“It has been, hasn’t it?” Tony’s blue eyes sparked with affection. “Mistress Leia is delighted to have so much company for the holiday. I must warn you--she’s arranged a small garden party for this evening to welcome the guests.”

Ben chuckled and released the butler from his embrace. _Small garden party_ was code for a complicated, boozy affair that would go into the wee hours of the morning with guests spilling out onto the lawn and falling asleep in the patio furniture.

“Of course she did.”

By the time Ben turned back, Hux had already taken care of introducing the others and they were piling their luggage atop the rack of the station wagon, securing it with bungee cords and squishing into the back seats.

The ride wasn’t long from the station to the house, and he groaned inwardly when he spotted the tent already erected in the side yard. A catering truck sat in the driveway and a cartload of glassware was being wheeled into the house.

Tony shooed them from carrying in their bags and they rounded the house as a pack trailing after Han. Ben pretended not to notice how Finn’s eyebrows shot up as he nudged Rey hard in the side. Her expression was inscrutable, and she took in the scene without remark. She sauntered slowly with her hands shoved into the pockets of her wide-legged linen trousers.

“Leia!” Han called to his wife where she stood amongst a sea of hired help uniformly clad in black and white.

His mother turned, a scowl creasing her petite features for a moment before she spotted them in the fray. Her face transformed in an instant as she shoved what looked to Ben like a seating chart into the arms of a young man and came bounding towards them.

Ben lengthened his stride, walking ahead of the group to intercept her.

“Mom,” he breathed as bent down and embraced her tiny frame. “What is all this? You shouldn’t have!”

Her voice was muffled against his chest as she pressed her hands to his back. “It’s nothing, and we know how hard you’ve all been working--you deserve a holiday!”

He pulled away and stood up to his full height to survey the scene. _Nothing_ looked like a staff of twelve, a bar table, and ten guest tables with at least eight seats at each. It was only slightly bigger than the _nothing_ she’d arranged to celebrate his graduation from law school.

“So you invited the whole county?”

“Oh, don’t be silly--it’s just a small thing,” Leia laughed and swiped her hand at his chest. “Introduce me to your beautiful young people!”

Leia didn’t need Ben to introduce her. She strode out ahead of him and began shaking hands as though she were the one running for office. Ben stood alone amongst the fray, hands on his hips. His father caught his eye over the others’ heads and the two men exchanged a private look.

She shooed them inside to freshen up before the other guests began arriving. In the twenty minutes of blissful peace after the exclamations over their respective quarters ended, he lay across the quilt covering the brass bed. He had the dormer room at the end of the hallway, above the garage and under the gable of the roof. It was totally quiet with the door shut, and for a minute, he could pretend that he was here alone with his parents, Tony and the dogs. That he was eighteen or twenty-one again, just on the cusp of something bigger, but not too big. He’d never failed at anything in his life, not really, so why he was having doubts in this moment about being able to secure the nomination was beyond him. Ben stared at the ceiling in an exhausted stupor before heaving up off the bed to change into something suitable. Contemplating his possibility for future failure and embarrassment before facing the phalanx of glad-handers was not a battle strategy.

He elected not to shave the shadow of his beard that darkened his jawline and to forgo a tie. The weather was perfectly seasonable; with the sun setting and the breeze off the ocean, it was becoming a touch cooler outside.

By the time he dragged himself back down the upstairs hallway to the stairway, a wayward party guest had already found her way inside and stood near the bottom, peering at the family pictures and clutching a flute of something effervescent that looked like a guaranteed hangover. In the half-light he could see her lips moving as though she was reading to herself and he realized she was murmuring to his mother’s dogs, who sat in rapt attention at her feet. They panted in unison and cocked their heads at her but their eyes never left the cocktail napkin she craddled in her other hand, hoping a crab hors d'oeuvre would land on the rug-lined steps. It was a young woman, her long arms elegantly and surprisingly bare. If ladies had finally stopped wearing those infernal formal gloves, he was fully ready to embrace that change.

He began down the stairs towards her and cleared his throat, ready to gently escort her back out to the yard when she turned as though startled and looked up at him.

It was Rey.

Ben hadn’t even recognized her, clad in an emerald green cocktail dress that hugged her slender figure in a way that left rather little to the imagination. The back of the dress--well, it didn’t really have one. The expanse of her back continued from her shoulders to her lower midsection, broken only by a horizontal strap holding the sides of the bodice together so as to prevent indecency from the side. Her eyes were the most made-up he’d ever seen, rimmed with a dark color that made them stand out under her hair, carefully styled across her forehead.

He slowed his step and sat down a few steps above her. She looked bashful and said, “I was just looking at your family’s pictures.”

His eyes flicked up to the portraits. His mother’s parents were directly in front of her, the photo taken on their wedding day. He had always thought the pictures curious, two individual portraits placed next to one another in oval frames, but his grandmother had insisted it was the fashion in those days. Neither of his grandparents smiled, but it was plain to see from looking at these stern-looking young people in sepia how his mother had gotten her looks.

“I see that,” Ben replied. “You look…” He worked his jaw, contemplating his choice of words.

“Is it alright?” Rey asked. She turned towards him fully now and gave a shy faux curtsey. “I’ve never really been to society garden party.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement at their predicament.

“Beautiful,” he finished. “You look beautiful.”

She blushed and he could tell she was biting back a sharp retort.

Instead, she simply said, “Thank you.”

He stood and stepped down to stand behind her. “That’s Leia’s parents,” he explained. “Padme was from a wealthy family who didn’t approve of my grandfather, because he wasn’t from the right kind of family. She was older, though, and needed to marry so that her younger siblings could, too.”

Rey’s head cocked in front of him, listening and Ben shoved his hand in his pocket to resist the urge to reach out and caress the curve of her bare back. Her shoulders were freckled but her mid-back was a creamy expanse right in front of him. He wondered if her skin would be warm to the touch.

“Did she... love him?” Rey asked, interrupting the lewd train of thought that was already fomenting about the quality of the rest of her skin.

“Very much,” Ben confirmed. His grandmother had always stressed that regardless of what had come later, she loved Anakin with everything she was. “They married in secret and were disgraced from her family, but for a time, they were very happy.”

“Until….?”

Ben studied her figure. She seemed to be genuine in asking him. Surely she knew all this already?

“Well,” he continued. “It was difficult for awhile, living without her family’s support. But my grandfather’s business began to do well-- the interwar period was a time of change, and people had to be more accepting of outsiders doing things, even people who weren’t from the right families. They had enough money and were making the right connections.”

He paused, hearing the sound of footsteps from the floor above. The others were no doubt making their way down shortly.

“My mother and uncle were born just a little while after they married. Twins,” Ben explained. “But he was sickly and died as an infant.”

Rey looked back at him now over her shoulder. It was fairly dark inside the house with the lights off, and it was hard to read her expression in profile.

“They were never the same after Luke died, at least not according to my grandmother,” he went on. “My grandfather threw himself into his work to compensate, and it... changed him. He wasn’t the same man she had fallen in love with anymore.”

She tucked her chin and took a delicate sip of her drink. He could smell gin but from the bubbles, he guessed champagne to be involved as well. “That’s tragic,” she said softly.

“They just grew apart,” Ben said finally. “She hated his business colleagues, especially the ones with ties to the Germans. She could tell something terrible was on the horizon, so once my mother was expecting me, my grandmother moved here to be closer to my mother and father. She never saw Grandfather again.”

A door banged upstairs and Hux’s laughter filtered down to them. Phasma’s higher-pitched giggle reached them as well, and the spell of his storytelling was broken. He suspected his campaign manager and his girlfriend had made a very different use of their precious free time before the shindig started.

“Are you ready for your first society party?” Ben offered her his arm.

Rey looked at it suspiciously before threading her forearm delicately through his, careful not to upset the remaining appetizers from her napkin. The dogs’ ears perked up at the movement and they panted even harder. A droplet of drool glistened on Artoo’s tongue before falling to the Oriental rug beneath.

“I’m ready for my coming out, Senator,” Rey’s eyes shone at her own joke. “Lead the way!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hotel Utah was a real hotel in Salt Lake City, and you can see [a picture of the lobby close to this period](https://collections.lib.utah.edu/details?id=206385) in this [historic photo collection](https://collections.lib.utah.edu/search?facet_setname_s=uum_hu). The building still exists but is now the Joseph Smith Building and is no longer a hotel.
> 
> It's Derby weekend; anyone want to lay bets about whether our OTP will exit 4th of July weekend without attaining some carnal knowledge of each other? 
> 
> Come say hi on Tumblr! I'm @theafterglow-writes.


	9. Holiday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, a brief housekeeping note! Due to AO3's repeated Sunday-evening issues, I'm changing my publication day to Monday or Tuesday for now. Also, I'll be out of town next weekend, so don't panic -- I'll be back ASAP. :) Now let's returned to our regularly scheduled political programming. :)

On her twenty-second Fourth of July, Rey awoke to the sound of tennis balls thwocking and hedge trimmers snikking. She sprawled across the twin bed in her room and groaned as she raised her head. She still wore her party dress and it was quite rumpled. One shoe was still on and the other, nowhere to be seen.

Had she walked up here by herself? Her mouth felt as though cotton balls had been shoved inside it. The last thing Rey could recall was dancing sloppily with Mitaka, then Finn, then being cut in on by a gentleman she didn’t know whose hand kept slipping lower and lower down her back until it rested on the curve of her ass.

Yes, she remembered that, and…

Every time she glanced away from a companion, she caught the senator staring at her. At first he’d looked away as though embarrassed, but as the night had worn on--and _how_ it had worn on-- he’d met her gaze steadily. He hadn’t approached her or tried to save her from any odious guests, but she would’ve sworn she could feel his eyes on her even when she wasn’t looking for him.

Rey closed her eyes now, tried not to scowl, and took deep breaths against the pounding in her temples. What had she drunk? She recalled something with gin and champagne, and possibly a glass of wine at dinner, then more fizzy things afterwards.

Ben had let her go amongst the other guests fairly soon after they’d met on the stairs, leaving her to make her own introductions. She hadn’t expected him to chaperone her at the unexpected soirée Leia had thrown together. She and Finn had the courage of alcohol on their side and made polite small talk with a seemingly endless parade of other young men and women who were the same age as them, but who were worlds apart in terms of life experience. She detected a virulent strain of one-upmanship amongst them as she politely answered their questions about her background.

_Oh, you went to Bard? I went to college in Switzerland._

_That’s lovely dear, you were a reporter? And now you’re a secretary for the senator?_

_That dress fits you so well, I’d never have guessed it was from a department store._

It grew easier to take with every fresh drink Finn pressed into her hand, and by the time they were swaying with the music of the jazz quartet, she could barely focus her eyes to notice the stares they drew from the other guests seated at the tables.

A knock interrupted her thoughts and she rolled off the bed to answer the door.

Phasma stood in front of her, already dressed in a red one-piece suit and clutching a beach towel. Her endless legs were a trim marvel and her feet shod in white sandals.

“Rey!” Phasma pulled her sunglasses down to the tip of her nose to better take in her sullied figure. “I thought you wanted to sunbathe at noon?”

Rey stared at her. “It’s noon?”

Phasma chuckled. “Actually, it’s nearly one. The boys have been up for hours, first rowing and now they’re out playing doubles with Han and Leia. We were wondering if you’d survived.”

The thought of strenuous physical activity in her current state made Rey’s stomach churn. Her head pounded and she leaned against the edge of the door.

“They row? Like in a boat?” Her voice sounded like a croak.

Phasma’s smile at her questions struck her as pitying. “Yes, they’ve rowed together almost every morning since they were teenagers. I tease them mercilessly about how WASP-y that is.” Phasma’s eyes sparkled.

Rey turned away from the door and stared thickly at her room. The braided rug gave a pop of color in the otherwise stark guest quarters. The window looked out towards the trees behind the house, and she could see the butler, Tony, fussing over a bed of roses at the far end of the lawn.

“Here,” Phasma entered behind her and closed the door. Her tone sounded motherly and sympathetic. “Let’s just get your things together and get you changed, alright?” She proceeded to Rey’s bag where Rey had abandoned it the evening before and began rifling through it in search of her swimsuit. Rey looked enviously at the curve of Phasma’s back, long and elegant in the deep V of her suit.

Rey’s navy blue swimsuit went in a pile with sandals and a coverup on the painted wood floor, and Phasma muttered to herself as she rooted through Rey’s things.

Her hand stilled and Phasma glanced over her shoulder at Rey with a grin.

“Rey!” Phasma exclaimed, standing suddenly to her full height and turning back. “I’m _shocked_ at you!”

Phasma held the open box of condoms in her long hand. Her knowing smile was too much for Rey to bear.

“How did you get these?” Phasma lowered her voice and stepped closer. “And… good for you!”

Rey rolled her eyes and flopped on the bed. “It’s not like that,” she mumbled, too hungover to explain the whole story. “My friend gave them to me as a joke.”

Her blonde friend shook her head, refusing to be put off. “It’s not a joke,” Phasma insisted. “Look, I’m not judging you--Jesus, how could I? Not when I’m shacking up with Prince Gingerbuns.”

Rey smiled despite herself at the nickname and felt momentarily better. Phasma had escaped her upbringing as the third child of a Nebraska dairy farmer to the East Coast for college the moment a scholarship had allowed it. A sturdy, tall, practical sort of girl with two older brothers, she affectionately referred to the middle of the country as “the Hinterland” but vowed never to return.

“I’m just surprised, Rey,” Phasma crossed her arms. “Is it Finn? You two were dancing last night like--”

“Nooooooo!” Rey curled into a ball on her side and tried to unhook the neck of her dress. “It’s not anyone! They’re just in case!”

“Okay, okay!” Phasma tossed the box back into the bag and hovered over her, undoing the dress where Rey’s stupid-feeling fingers couldn’t make sense of the hook-and-eye closure from her upside-down-backwards angle. “C’mon, get up!”

Rey stood reluctantly and let her friend wrestle the dress off. Standing with her arms crossed over her chest, Rey retrieved the suit from the floor as Phasma set to hanging the dress up on the clothes rack behind the door. Rey stripped quickly from her slip and petticoat and threw them in a pile over her bag.

Rey had one foot through the leg of the suit when Phasma asked, “But you have, right? Had sex?”

“Yes, for fuck’s sake!” Rey huffed in exasperation. “More than once! And with different people!”

Phasma chuckled. “How positively _bohemian_ of you, Rey! I’ll be in the hallway.”

Ten minutes later they finally made their way out of the house, Rey’s smudgy eyes hidden behind her sunglasses and her pride only slightly dented by a trip through the kitchen to collect Saltines and a thermos of iced tea. Tony had looked her up and down, then insisted she drink a tall glass of mineral water with a double dose of painkiller tablets before handing over their provisions. He had offered neither judgement nor absolution, and Rey suspected she was far from the first guest he had nursed back to normalcy following a party.

“The odds of you escaping _that_ party unscathed were approximately two million to one,” Tony’s eyes twinkled with amusement as he reclaimed her glass and placed it in the sink to wash later. “Now go, you two!”

They were nearly out of the house and to the path to the beach when they ran into the senator and Hux making their way in from the tennis courts.

“Good afternoon, Rey!” Hux greeted her with a salute. “You’re alive!”

Rey nodded silently, pushing her sunglasses needlessly up her nose and looking at the gravel path between them. Could this day get any worse?

Both men were shirtless. They’d slung their sweat-soaked shirts around their necks in place of towels, and she could smell them from six feet away.

“Congrats,” Ben’s tone was wry. “You survived your first party at the beach. I think my mother has a medal of some sort to pin on you.”

“Gross!” Phasma feigned disgust as Hux went in for a kiss. “Decorations will have to wait--we’re off to sunbathe and we’ll see you boys later.”

Behind the safety of her sunglasses, Rey took in the sight of her employer baring his chest as though anyone cared to see it. She glanced away with annoyance at this show but looked back almost instantly, noticing the scant trail of hair that lead from his navel to the button on his shorts. The tennis whites were decidedly short, and the expanse of his muscled thighs from the hemline to his knobby knee caused her to cross her arms with impatience at being further delayed.

Ben shifted his weight and tugged at the ends of his shirt around his neck, but they said nothing to each other as Hux and Phasma continued canoodling in front of them.

Rey cleared her throat. “We should get going-- all the cabanas are probably already taken,” she said pointedly.

“I’m not the one who overslept,” Phasma shot back gently, but she pushed Hux playfully away. “Go take a shower, we’ll see you for dinner.”

“Enjoy yourselves,” Ben called, already four steps up the path, his long legs carrying him to the house.

Rey glanced at his broad back dotted with moles and sighed with disgust at herself that she looked after him at all.

Half a sleeve of Saltines did wonders to settle her stomach, and Rey began to feel human within another hour. She drifted in and out of consciousness as Phasma chattered idly, reading tidbits of Hollywood gossip to her from the women’s magazine Phasma had procured at the newstand in the train station the day prior.

The trip from Washington to the Solo compound felt like a lifetime ago. The time she had known the senator was long enough to divide into phases now, and contemplating this in her fragile, hungover state made her feel curious. Thinking of it as shades of hatred was too black and white. If anything, her feelings about him as a person were fading to an ever more grey shade. She’d barely had time to make sense of his story about his grandparents before he’d whisked her away to the party.

It all seemed logical enough as he presented it, but if it was the truth, why had he not simply told her this in the spring?

And then there was her stupid dream. She had felt skittish around him for weeks afterwards, as though he would somehow know, just by looking at her, that she had awoken in a frozen panic to realize she’d dreamt of fucking him. Her nerves had settled, but the sound of his voice from behind her was still enough to induce a wash of shame that twisted her lower belly.

Shame, but sometimes--she hated herself--lust.

“Phas,” Rey interrupted her friend’s reading of a passage about perfecting winged eyeliner. “Have you ever had dreams about someone you don’t like? Or someone you work with?”

Phasma moved her sunglasses to the top of her head to peer at Rey. “Mmmmm, what kind of dreams?”

Rey hoped Phasma could not detect the flush she could feel reddening her cheeks. “Like… inappropriate dreams. The kind you’d be embarrassed for the other person to know about.”

Phasma rolled onto her side and propped up on her elbow. Rey looked at her from behind her sunglasses.

“I mean,” Phasma rolled the page of the magazine into the spine to mark her place. “I have a lot of violent dreams where I kill or maim people, and I’d rather they not know about that. It’s something I meditate about a lot, actually.”

Rey removed her sunglasses now as well. Her eyes felt crusty from the leftover eye makeup and she looked up at the striped canvas of the cabana. They had snagged the last one and were glad of the shade as the afternoon had grown still with little breeze off the ocean.

“I think it’s just your brain’s way of dealing with your subconscious feelings,” Phasma continued when Rey didn’t elaborate. “If it happens a lot, maybe it’s something you need to pay attention to when you’re awake.”

Rey considered this. Paying more attention to the senator when she was awake hardly seemed possible. His needs and her work consumed her entire life at the moment.

“Hmmmm,” Rey hummed. “What do you do when you meditate?”

Phasma drew herself into a seated position now, her long legs to the side. “You should come to the spiritual center with me sometime,” she said without really explaining. “You learn how to acknowledge your feelings, but not let them influence you. It’s very freeing, actually.”

“But….” Rey shook her head back and forth, not meeting her friend’s eyes. “It’s just dreams--it’s not real feelings.”

Phasma raised her eyebrows at this and poured a handful of sand into a small pile on the edge of her beach towel before answering. “I think both Freud and eastern philosophers would disagree with you there. The two are intrinsically intertwined.”

Rey’s flush deepened at this and she worked her jaw back and forth.

“Here,” Phasma lay back on her towel now, mirroring Rey. “We can do it together.”   

“You don’t need to sit up?” Rey recalled watching Hux.

“You can meditate in any comfortable position,” Phasma closed her eyes gently. “Close your eyes and try to empty your mind.”

Rey obeyed but immediately started scowling. Her thoughts were a tangled jumble. As soon as she tried not to think of something, she found she thought of everything all at once.

“I…. I can’t not think of something,” Rey sat up and crossed her arms in frustration.

Phasma nodded gently, still reclining. “That’s normal, just lie back.”

Rey huffed but flopped back onto her towel, arms still crossed protectively over her midsection. Without a word or opening her eyes, Phasma reached over and grasped her wrist, gently pushing  Rey’s arm back alongside her body.

“It’s totally normal at first to have difficulty focusing,” Phasma intoned in a dreamy, soothing voice. “Start by tracking the rhythm of your breathing. In, and out. In, and out. In, and out. Do that until you’re breathing regularly and don’t notice your breathing anymore.”

The two women lay beside one another, and Rey tried to just breathe.

Even that was more difficult that she could’ve imagined. This meditation felt like much more work than prayer had ever required, a physical awareness of her person that God did not demand to hear her concerns.

Slowly, so slowly, she could detect a change in her breathing: it moved from her chest down her torso, to her lower ribs and eventually, she could feel her stomach rising and falling, her suit moving gently over it. The tiny grains of sand beneath her fingertips were noticeable. The rough slub of the cotton beach towel beneath the backs of her sweaty thighs.

“Good,” Phasma murmured. “Now, let your mind go. Try to stay with the first thing that pops into your head-- good or bad. Why are you thinking of it? Why does it have power over you? Notice it, but let it go after you’ve examined it. And keep breathing.”

Rey scowled briefly before schooling her face back to a state of relaxation. The thing in her mind’s eye, as it had been for nearly four months straight now, was Ben. She didn’t _want_ to think of him, it was simply unavoidable. He was unavoidable. Every waking moment, he was there, or she was thinking of him, or talking about him with someone else that worked with them or knew him. It was an impossible kind of intimacy, a shallow yet all-consuming forced intimacy that took all that she was, but gave her nothing in return.

And… no, that wasn’t right, she didn’t _expect_ anything in return, she worked for him--

“Relax, Rey,” Phasma shook Rey’s wrist softly. “I can hear you’re not breathing. Whatever it is, put it aside. Let your mind move on.”

She took a deep breath through her mouth, as if she could exhale her frustration over her feelings about her boss in one go. The next thing that popped into her mind, though, was the strange reaction she’d had to Ben touching her forehead after she’d fainted in New Mexico.

But that lead her to her father, and her mother, and she missed them so terribly in this moment. Even here, surrounded by someone else’s family and colleagues on the holiday, she felt so unbelievably, crushingly alone. Ben’s cruel comment still haunted her.

 _I saw who your parents are--your real parents. I’m sure you’d like to know, or--have you always known?_    

Rey’s lips pressed into a thin line and her chin trembled, but she forced herself to keep breathing.

Of course she had known. She had known she was adopted from the time her peers had asked why her grandparents brought her to school and she’d punched a boy in the stomach for saying her mother looked old. They had sat her down at their kitchen table in the circle of light from the overhead light and calmly explained that yes, they were raising her because her real parents couldn’t. That they loved her like she was theirs because she was, but would never have any brothers or sisters.

Rey gripped a handful of sand and squeezed, the grains oozing from between her fingers back into their place on the beach. Her cheeks were wet now and she felt her breathing stutter, her diaphragm contracting involuntarily as she tried not to sob openly.

“Phas,” Rey swallowed. “I think I need to go take a nap before dinner. I still don’t feel well.”

Phasma patted Rey’s forearm. “Get some rest. I’ll see you later on.”

* * *

 

The house felt cool and dark in comparison with the steamy heat of the lawn.

Rey dragged up the stairs, feeling the heat radiating off her skin beneath her cover-up. She felt mostly restored, but her head was stuffy from her tears that had welled up as she thought of her parents. She reached the landing and swiped the back of her hand at her eyes in case any residual water was lingering.

The bed in her room had been straightened but not remade, as it hadn’t even been slept in the night before. The quilt was back to a neat, even layer and her party shoes were stowed next to one another at the foot of her bed.

She wondered where the rest of the party had gone off to. Rey crept back into the hallway and stared at the door at the very end.

Ben’s door was open part way and despite herself, Rey stole to it and peeked inside.

She didn’t know what she thought she’d find; this wasn’t the house he’d grown up in, and aside from the photos by the stairway, there was little in terms of personal effects around it. She wasn’t even sure the furniture in the public rooms was something Leia would’ve picked out.

His room was unremarkable, and very similar to hers. A larger bed, but the same type of rug. A window, just a slightly different view. His had a desk, and a pile of legal folders were splattered out across its surface, but otherwise their rooms were identical.

Rey turned away, about to return to her room to lie down, when something on the nightstand caught her eye. A book lay under a newspaper, one with two bookmarks in it.

Her stomach clenched as she stole forwards on tiptoes and lifted the newspaper.

It was _her_ book! She lifted the front cover to be sure, but she would’ve recognized its shape and size anywhere.

He had taken her book?! Sure, he’d preserved her bookmark and added his own--and she noticed with a rising tide of irritation, he was quite a bit further than her--but she was frozen with a mixture of surprise, annoyance, and amusement. He had been so superior that day on the bus about her reading habits that she’d wanted to slap him. The entire time he’d read poetry to her, he had been _lying_ to her!

A door opened downstairs and Rey hastened to replace the newspaper at the casual angle it had been at before she’d snooped.

She returned to her room and closed the door so whoever came in downstairs wouldn’t see her pacing in circles in her room, hands on her hips. She stripped of her suit and lay under the sheet, too warm from the sun and turning uncomfortably from her back onto her side and back the other way, unable to find a position where she could relax enough to forget what she had seen.

Rey never managed to fall asleep before she heard the others begin filtering back into the house for cocktails and she rose reluctantly to begin dressing. Dinner was meant to be a small, casual affair amongst them, and Rey looked forward to a drink to soothe the last of her headache away. She wound her hair into a loose bun at the nape of her neck and did her best to clean away the remainder of the previous day’s eye makeup with a tissue. Her freckles stood out boldly on her cheekbones and her nose showed a hint of red.

Whether it was from the sun or her emotional state, she wasn’t entirely sure.

As it turned out, even a casual dinner at the beach was a multi-course affair on the lawn at a long, elegant table set with real china and tealights flickering in glass lanterns as the evening breeze kicked up. Rey excused herself to get her sweater between the soup and main courses, and when she returned, Ben was standing at his place, waiting for her.

They all quieted down and Ben lifted his cocktail glass in front of him.

He shoved his hand in his pocket and tucked his chin to his chest before beginning, prompting Mitaka to call out, “Not so easy is it? When someone else doesn’t write it for you?”

“Touche,” Ben smiled, pointing one finger in Mitaka’s direction. “And thank you, Dopheld, for always putting words in my mouth.”

Mitaka gave a dismissive wave and his wife shook her head ruefully at his antics.

“In all seriousness, though,” Ben continued. “I want to thank all of you for all your work so far this year, because I know we wouldn’t be sitting here together, on the cusp of the national convention, if everyone weren’t pulling their weight, and then some.”

Rey’s eyes flicked up from the buttery ear of corn that was steaming in front of her to meet Finn’s, and he gave her the smallest smile and a wink before hiding his lips behind his folded hands. She couldn’t wait until she had a chance to tell him about the book and to debrief about this whole ridiculous weekend, but she did her best to keep a neutral expression.

“I hope,” Ben’s free hand went to his middle now, a practiced gesture meant to convey his sincerity, “I’m not being overconfident in saying I hope I see all of you back here in November for Thanksgiving, after we win this thing. Thank you again, happy Fourth of July, and let’s eat!”

“Here, here!” They lifted their own glasses in unison to toast each other’s accomplishments and dug into the feast that lay before them.  

* * *

 

The festivities wound down much earlier that evening, and after the young people made their way to the beach to watch the fireworks popping off all down the shoreline leading back towards the city, they quietly went off to their rooms.

Several hours later, Rey found she was still wide awake despite the large meal and several drinks, and she lay on her back with the lamp on until the clock showed eleven-thirty.

The nervous excitement she still felt about discovering her book in Ben’s possession made her restless, and several times she got up and peeked out the crack of her door down the hallway. The last time she checked fifteen minutes prior, his light had still been visible beneath the door.

Rey paced again, going to the window and staring out, then trying to lie down and relax. Her mind was a jumble from the whirlwind of coming here, the party, her revelation about the book. She tried to notice her breathing to calm herself, but it stayed stubbornly stuck in the top of her lungs.

She jumped up after less than a minute, grabbed her sweater from the chair in a huff and pulled it on over her nightgown. She flung open the door and marched to the end of the hallway.

The light still shone beneath Ben’s door and Rey held her breath as she knocked half as hard as she felt like doing. She felt like she could kick his door down in her current state of sleepless agitation.  

The door opened a moment later, just a sliver before Ben opened it fully and took in her figure.

“Rey? What are you doing here, it’s almost midnight?”

“I should ask you the same thing!” Rey whispered as vehemently as she could.  

Ben looked taken aback at her but stood aside so she could enter. “Get in here before someone sees you!”

Rey crossed her arms, stormed into his room and stood in the middle. He closed the door quietly and leaned back against it, taking her in calmly.

“What’s going on with you?”

“You!” Rey punctuated her accusation with her finger pointed at him, “You stole my book! You knew how much it meant to me, but you did it anyway, then lied to me about it! What kind of a person does that?”

Ben narrowed his eyes at her and to her disgust, the corner of his mouth began to curl with what looked like… amusement? How dare he laugh at her!

“You snooped in your boss’s room while you were on vacation? What kind of a person does _that_?”

Rey took a step closer to him. “Don’t act like you’re not the one at fault here, Ben! You started this. I was content to mind my own business, but you had to antagonize me!” He made no move to let her out nor to move towards her.

“Alright,” he shrugged. “I took your book. You’re right. I… did that. You’ve also been acting really weird towards me for weeks.”

Rey froze. Weird? _She_ was acting weird?

“I only took it because I wanted to get to know you better,” Ben admitted. He pushed away from the door and took a half step towards her very slowly. “I keep thinking things will get easier between us, that I’ll figure you out somehow,” he tugged his hand through his hair at his admission. “But I can’t, or you won’t let me, or--”

He broke off. He had taken several more steps forward until he was nearly toe-to-toe with her.

Rey looked up at him through her lashes and they made eye contact.

“Well, I’m… right here,” Rey muttered and her stomach flip-flopped to see how his gaze fell to her lips before jumping back up to meet hers.

“I thought you hated me,” Ben murmured.  

Her heart pounded as she shook her head. “I don’t hate you--”

Her words died as his lips met hers and she leaned into his touch as he placed his fingertips gently on her sternum.

He drew away after a moment and she opened her eyes after the weight of his hand lifted.

“Now take your book and go, Rey,” he whispered. “Before we do something we’ll both regret.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on Tumblr - I'm @theafterglow-writes!


	10. A Gentleman's Wager

Ben closed the door softly behind Rey and leaned his forehead against it. He stayed that way as he listened to her steps recede from his room, until he heard her own door click shut down the hallway. He raised his head, only to let it fall with a thunk against the painted wood once more.

“Fuck,” he breathed. “Idiot!”

Truly, there was something wrong with him. He turned away from the door and grabbed a piece of paper off the desk, crumpled it in his fist, and flung it at the far corner of the room. Three more sheets followed it but he felt no better.

Taking Rey’s book had been a rash, impulsive move. He could’ve just asked her like a civilized person, but no-- he'd stolen it, then lied to her when she’d confided in him. He admitted it was childish.

Kissing Rey, though...

The pile of paper balls grew in the corner. Their weightless, uneven flights did nothing to soothe the rage he felt at himself and only served to hurt his shoulder as he whipped them even harder.

Ben flopped on his bed and punched the spare pillow with the back of his fist before pulling it over his face and releasing a fierce growl that faded into a groan of self-disgust. He peeked over the edge of the material, scowling at the underside of the roof. A storm had blown up late in the evening and a light rain pelted the house. Normally it would’ve been soothing, but the staccato, uneven sound was making him stir-crazy even before the interruption.

What was she doing in her room, down the hall? Why did he care? He didn’t care what she was doing.

No, he didn’t. He didn’t care, not one bit.

But if he didn’t care, then why could he not stop picturing her look of surprise when he pulled away from her? He clenched his fist as he thought how her weight had swayed against him. He could still feel her necklace, the one she never took off, pressing into the palm of his hand.  

She _wanted_ him to kiss her!

It was incomprehensible to him. He’d expected her to resist, to slap him for even _trying,_ but instead…

He had never felt like he would be satisfied to merely kiss a woman, but he could’ve stood here all night, just kissing her. The look in her eye when he’d told her to go, like a startled deer in the headlights, confirmed she had wanted more, too.  

Ben covered his face with the pillow once more and let out a muffled yelp of frustration. He tossed the pillow against the wall and stood in one smooth motion, returning to his desk to continue working.

Two hours later, amendments swam in front of his eyes and he couldn’t recall a single thing he had read. The clock read two-fifteen in the morning and the storm still battered the roof. The pile of crumpled papers he’d unfolded and smoothed lay before him, and he felt ashamed just thinking of the face Maz would make when he handed them to her to type up his corrections next week.

He could picture it now, her lined old face puckered around the cigarette between her bright pink lips. “Long night, Senator?”

Ben folded forwards over his desk and lay his head on his forearms. A tree branch scraped against the siding of the house but he detected no movement inside down the hallway. What was he listening for? She wouldn’t come back, not when he’d sent her away like that.

Against his better judgement, he went to his door and turned the handle slowly to release the latch before opening it. He peered out the crack down the hallway.

It was dark under her door.

Ben didn’t know if it was disappointment or relief that flooded his body that she wasn’t still awake.

* * *

  _July 5, 1964_

The inlet was completely still aside from their sculls skimming over the water, a pair of herons standing on one leg in the cattails and the occasional cry of a seagull wheeling overhead. The storm let up overnight but a light fog lay in over the water.

He and Hux had had their ups and downs, but rowing was their constant. Ben sighed as he looked at Hux’s back, their movements in sync and honed by years of practice. They’d begun as an unlikely pair at prep school, matched because of their similar gangly heights but had grown into a team of dedicated oarsmen. While Ben’s frame had filled out as he’d reached his early twenties, Hux had remained thin as a rail but was deceptively strong and a more determined competitor. They routinely took top honors in the congressional intramural rowing club.

Of course, it also didn’t hurt that they were at least twenty years younger that most of the other participants and took it somewhat seriously instead of as a chance to drink and slap backs out of sight of their wives.

A patch of sweat was just beginning to darken his friend’s shirt between the shoulder blades when Ben interrupted the silence.

“Armitage,” Ben began. “You owe me fifty bucks.”

His assertion didn’t cause Hux to break his rhythm at all. The slightest tilt of the ginger’s head was all the more acknowledgment Ben got.

They slowed and began to turn at the end of the inlet before they reached the stand of cattails and it was then that Hux glanced back at him.

“I don’t owe you spit. The convention’s not for another twenty days.”

Ben didn’t meet his friend’s steady gaze. They drifted over the water pointing back towards the house and the two men began to pull in unison without a word.

They were halfway back when Ben spoke again. “Actually, I have a feeling like you’re going to win.”

Hux abruptly stopped rowing and turned, dipping the tip of his right oar into the water. It was enough to create perceptible drag on that side and Ben stopped rowing too.

The boat skidded slightly sideways and came to a slow stop.

“What?” Hux’s eyes narrowed in suspicion and he combed his sweaty hair back from his forehead.

Ben shrugged. “I just have a hunch.”

Hux stared at him. “A hunch? What does that mean?”

“It’s not like she wanted to work for us to begin with.”

“But she does, and she’s good, so why would she quit now?” Hux’s eyes were practically slits now. “Unless you did something shitty to her again?

Ben couldn’t meet Hux’s eyes, but the accusation rankled him. Resentment bubbled in his gut. “How come I’m automatically the one who’s been shitty?”

“Are you asking rhetorically? I hope?”

When he didn’t answer, Hux turned away and swiped his face with the inside of his elbow. “How long?” Hux sounded defeated.

“It’s not like that,” Ben retorted. “Nothing’s happened.”

“Yet,” Hux finished. “Nothing’s happened _yet_.”

“Why do you always act like I have no self-control?”

“Well, prove me wrong once and I might start believing you do,” Hux spat, grabbing his oar handles and beginning to pull without waiting for Ben.

Ben let his friend pull his dead weight for five stokes before picking up his own oars and beginning to row once more. He deliberately rowed at a different timing, his oars dipping at the exact opposite point of Hux’s stroke. It caused the boat to move unevenly, jerking through the water.

Hux caught on to his trick immediately and paused mid-stroke to allow their rhythm to sync once more.

“I knew this was going to happen.” The wind carried Hux’s voice away but Ben could still make out what he was saying. “You’re so predictable, it’s ludicrous.”

Ben tucked his chin to his chest and rowed harder, relishing the burn in his thighs and upper arms. Since when was predictability a bad thing? In his experience, voters preferred stability to chaos.

“Phas said you spent the entire party staring at her like a creep,” Hux went on. “You won’t be able to just cast her off like one of your flings, Ben. Not this one.” Hux’s tone struck him as protective, an older brother flexing his muscles at a sister’s suitor.

It annoyed Ben deeply, this assumption of Hux’s that he was always the one at fault.

“Well, _I’m_ not the one who came to my room last night,” Ben retorted. “Did you ever think of that?”

The scull hitched again as Hux’s rowing paused. Ben narrowed his eyes at Hux’s back.

“I thought you said nothing happened?!”

“Nothing happened!” Ben shouted, causing the herons to start and flap their wings. They rose a short distance in the air before settling back into the thicket at the shoreline. Their elegant heads turned towards the boat and they froze, tensed on high alert.

“Then why are you even telling me this?!” Hux cried, turning back to him again.

Ben stopped pulling and they drifted. They were nearly at the dock anyway.

“We just kissed, that’s all,” Ben admitted with a shake of his head. “It was--I was--stupid.”

The boat bumped softly into the piling of the dock and Ben wanted to dive into the water to hide from Hux’s withering gaze. It was moments like these when Hux most resembled his father, a career military officer whose disappointed stare could freeze ice cream in hell.  

“Only you would count that as _nothing_ ,” Hux’s tone was surprisingly gentle despite his expression. “You like her,” he stated.  

Ben secured the oar in its place rather than answer Hux’s charge. It wasn’t a question, but rather a statement of fact as Hux saw things.

“It can’t happen.” Ben stood in the boat and reached to the edge of the dock, pulling them to the edge.

“What do you want me to do here, exactly?” Hux shifted into business mode. “I can’t let her go because you can’t keep your lips to yourself. She’s been great.”

“I know that,” Ben scoffed. “And I don’t need you to do anything, except maybe act like a human being instead of a robot for once and hear me out!”

Hux stood now too and leapt up onto the dock. He crouched down and they were nearly nose-to-nose. Ben looked at Hux’s boat shoes, fraying at the edges of the opening.

“If I didn’t know you, I would sock you for saying that,” Hux’s eyes glittered with amusement. “This is the most interesting thing you’ve told me in _years_.”

Ben looked up at his friend.

“It can’t happen,” he repeated, taking Hux’s outstretched hand to step up onto the wood platform. They set to dragging the boat to its moorings.

They were nearly back to the house and Hux had made no further remark when Ben asked, “Don’t mention this to her.”

“Mention what?” Hux’s tone was light. “And I think you’re going to win our gentleman’s wager after all, if you don’t go and fuck it up.”

They were up the stairs of the porch and into the house when Ben heard Rey’s laugh in the kitchen. The smell of coffee permeated the downstairs and Tony was chattering up a storm to her. He had lived a lot and seen a lot, and while he never told stories without being asked, their butler could charm the pants of anyone with his dry humor.  

“She’s up early,” Hux remarked. “I wonder why?”

Ben glanced at his friend and they entered the kitchen together to find their press officer and his family’s butler seated at the kitchen table. To his surprise, Rey was fully dressed in a light sweater to ward off the chilly morning and her duffle bag lay on the chair beside her, zipped and ready to go.

“Good morning, gentlemen!” Tony shot out of his chair the moment they peeked through the door. “Would either of you care for a coffee?”

“Please,” Hux yawned his response. “I need a vacation from this vacation. Morning, Rey.”

Rey nodded at Hux in acknowledgement. Her eyes flicked up to meet Ben’s for a split-second before she stared into her mug of coffee instead. Ben couldn’t be sure in the early morning light, but he thought he saw her cheeks flush a shade or two darker.

“I’ll take a coffee too,” Ben replied. “Thanks, Tony.”

Hux took the heat for him. “You going somewhere, Rey?”

“I’m going to take the train back to the city, to see my friend before the weekend is over,” Rey said quickly. “She’s keeping my extra stuff and there’s some things I need now that it’s summertime. I just haven’t had a chance to get up there before now, and it’s on the way home.”

She glanced at Ben again and to his credit, Hux did not follow her eyes.

“That’s too bad, but we’ll see back at the office on Monday,” Hux said smoothly.

“Yes, Miss Rey asked if I would drive her to the station,” Tony added, pouring coffee into waiting mugs.

“I’ll drive you,” Ben blurted out. “Tony’s got things to do here.”

“Oh, my-- breakfast isn’t for hours, it’s no trouble!”

“No, I’ll do it,” Ben insisted. “When’s your train?”

An awkward silence hung over them and he purposefully ignored Hux’s lone raised eyebrow.

“I was planning on the eight o’clock,” Rey finally replied. “But, you’re not dressed so--”

“It’s fine, we’re not going to see the Queen,” Ben pulled out the chair at the end of the table and sat. The clock on the back of the range read seven twenty-five. Plenty of time to cool off, drink this cup of coffee and still get to the station with time to spare.  

Rey’s lips formed a line and she took a sip of her coffee without comment.

“Well, if you insist, Ben,” Tony shrugged. “You know where the keys to the wagon are.”

“It’s fine,” Ben repeated.

* * *

 They arrived at the station without having spoken a word, and if Ben thought he had known the meaning of pain and suffering before, this three mile drive through the sleepy estates to the depot surpassed his idea in spades.

He pulled into a parking spot underneath a tree and cut the engine, leaving the keys dangling in the ignition, and Rey made no move to get out beside him. The train wasn’t yet at the station anyway.

He had learned to drive in this car: a shit-brown, post-war land barge with varnished wood paneling and a hatchback big enough to fit an entire family’s luggage for a road trip. His father had bought it in a fit of practicality and partially, he suspected, to irritate his mother. Leia was unusual, a woman who had learned to drive during the Great War as part of her training as a nurse, but she loathed the vehicle they affectionately called the Brown Bomber. Perhaps she hated its looks, unbecoming of an upwardly mobile American political family, or maybe how it handled, more like a boat in its steering than an automobile, but Ben had thrown a fit during law school when Han mentioned the possibility of divesting it from their garage. He loved this car for the memories it held, some of the few with each of his parents from his teenage years.

Thus, it came to live the beach, out of Leia’s sight for eight months of the year and imminently practical for ferrying guests to and from the train or running errands with Tony at the helm.

“Listen,” Ben finally broke the silence. “I’ll tell my parents you had an emergency and had to go to the city.”

Rey’s shoulders rose and fell once before she answered, “You don’t need to lie to them. Just say I already had other plans.”

“Did you?”

She looked out the passenger window and that was all the answer he needed.

Ben huffed and squeezed the leather-wrapped steering wheel until the brittle old casing squeaked under his hand.

“Rey, I don’t know how to say this,” he began. “I know I should keep my feelings to myself, but I hope it’s not too forward of me to say I know this is… difficult. Maybe for both of us.” He ventured the last part and glanced at her.

Rey’s lower lip curled inwards and she bit it. He shifted against the heat that shot to his groin at the sight.

When she made no further acknowledgment, he went on. “I can only speak for myself, but I’ve struggled in the past month to keep my feelings for you professional. I wanted to hate you,” he admitted, and noticed how her eyelids fluttered at the word. “I thought you would be naive, a silly, young girl that wouldn’t be up to the job. We all did,” he hastened to add, the bet nagging in the back of his mind.

Rey slipped her hands beneath her thighs and her face shifted, but she didn’t look over to him.

“But you’ve proven me wrong, and I don’t think I’m alone in saying we wouldn’t have gotten this far without you.”

She was scowling now, and the heat he felt a moment earlier was replaced with a nervous tension that gripped his gut. He was not on firm ground here, and he knew it.

“It was foolish, what I did last night,” he continued, almost wincing to admit his mistake. “It could never work between us, Rey.”

She crossed her arms and finally turned towards him, shifting in her seat so that she faced him.

“And why is that?” Her tone was icy.

“Because! We’re--” He gestured between them, searching for words. “We’re different, too different. Our families, our ambitions--”

“What do you presume to know about my ambitions?!” Rey cried. Her mouth fell open and she shook her head at him.

“It just can’t happen, Rey,” he finished, ignoring her question.

“Well, thank you for explaining your feelings Ben.” Her tone oozed sarcasm. “I’m glad I finally know where I stand, and I’m sorry my class status has caused you such difficulty in acting like a gentleman!”

“It’s not about that--”

“Of  _ course _ it’s about that,” Rey spat. “But I’m sure you can find the willpower to resist my charms, few as they are!”

“Rey, I--”

“No!” Rey practically shouted at him now, and he glanced around for fear of someone overhearing them with the windows rolled down.

The station was still deserted with four minutes until the train.

“You had me followed!” Rey’s eyes were glistening, and her voice wavered in a way that almost certainly indicated tears were to follow. “You took my property, you lied to me, then you act like I should be grateful just to be in your presence?”

She paused to let this sink in and he could only look at the gear shift between them.

“You’re right, it’s been difficult for me, too. For… for a bit now. But maybe,” she went on, “If you’d ever been in the real world, you would know there’s a whole lot more people like me than there are like you. So quit acting like you’re doing me a favor, okay!?”

With that, she flung open the passenger door and retreated to the rear of the station wagon.

Ben sat perfectly still for a moment until he realized she was waiting for him to open the trunk. He hastened out and rounded the vehicle, opening the hatch without a word. Her raised eyebrows told him she expected him to get her luggage, too.

Her duffle bag was light as he handed it to her.

“Have a safe trip, Rey.” It was the only thing he could risk saying without further offending her.  

“Thank you, Senator,” Rey said. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always for reading and your comments- readers' teamwork makes the dream work! :D 
> 
> For reference, this is how I imagine [the Brown Bomber](https://goo.gl/images/Tgswpz). 
> 
> Come say hi on Tumblr - I'm @theafterglow-writes.


	11. Meet Me Tonight in Atlantic City

_July 25, 1964_

Rey lay atop the comforter with her eyes closed in an attempt to catch a few more minutes of sleep before she was due back downstairs in the grand ballroom. A mild headache gripped her temples and she breathed deeply, hoping to ease the tension in her neck and shoulders. She and Finn had retreated from the group an hour before citing urgent last-minute press duties, but in truth, they each wanted a moment of peace and quiet before the chaos of delegate voting broke loose.

Three packed days of party meetings, grand speeches, boozy dinners and press junkets preceded this night, and the whole team were a bit on edge.

It had seemed so certain the senator would be the candidate before they’d arrived in Atlantic City. Ben’s near-sweep of the early primaries and strong showing in the later ones were promising signs for sure, but it was easy to forget that when they stood amongst the other candidates’ teams, all of them a sight larger and packed with more experienced managers and wranglers of all stripes. It was swiftly apparent to Rey that there was a career to be made as a professional political hanger-on, a devoted acolyte of one man until he lost and you moved on to the next. Rey had--with good reason in her mind--doubted Holdo’s promise of this venture leading to better things, but when she saw how the other press officers did less for their candidates, she had to admit her editor had been right.

So too were the other candidates more experienced at campaigning, with longer records and multiple attempts at higher office. With every chance they got, they brought up Ben’s youth and took the opportunity to cast his optimism as hopeless naivete. His clean-cut, educated East Coast upbringing was suddenly a liability instead of an asset, a divider that separated him from the hard-working, salt-of-the-earth men who had built the country with their sweat, blood, tears, and whatever other bodily fluid his opponents thought to drag up. Always in their speeches, Rey noticed, it was _men_ who had done these American things: built the railroads, fought the wars, tamed the land. Rey saw opportunity in their blind spots, but it was hard to sit through speech after speech that seemed to erase her sex’s and Finn’s forefathers’ contributions from their history.

It wasn’t about truth anymore, this campaign. Rey turned restlessly on her side and squeezed her eyes shut.

It was about perception.

The phone buzzed on her nightstand.

“Your wake-up call, ma’am!”

It was four forty-five in the afternoon and Rey lay still for a few more minutes before heaving herself off the bed to dress for the evening. The summer weather was warm and humid, the beaches flooded with families sunning themselves near the boardwalks and licking dripping ice cream cones in children’s hands. A unexpected pang gripped her midsection when she saw them: tanned, lithe and shepherding their offspring without a care in the world. She couldn’t quite pin the feeling down. Perhaps she envied their vacations while she was stuck here working, or she missed her friends when she thought of their trip the previous summer to visit her in the city. Her life had taken some very unexpected turns in the last twelve months, and their visit had taken on a shining, talismen-like quality of a joyful, easier time in her young life.

She glanced up from brushing her teeth to study herself in the mirror. She rarely let herself play out the scenario, but _what if_ she hadn’t gone to the presser before Easter? If she had kept her mouth shut and just written her piece? Her father had been a pragmatist, teaching her there was no point in dwelling on the past when you could only change the future, but Rey could not help but wonder.

If she hadn’t gone to Ben’s door.

Rey shimmied to zip her brocade sheath dress behind her back, smoothing it down over her hips and wiggling into the matching bolero jacket. Phasma had helped her pick it out the weekend before, the two women sandwiched into the tiny dressing room in the department store.

“I don’t like it,” Rey protested. “It’s too--”

“It fits you beautifully,” Phasma countered. “And the color is very patriotic.”

Rey scowled at her reflection now. Though it was modest with the jacket, the navy blue dress hugged her figure in a way that left little to the imagination. Ever since the holiday at the beach, she had been extra self-conscious of what she wore around her colleagues, especially Ben.

Thinking of his awkward confession of nascent romantic feelings for her at the train station still gave her the same undefinable pang in her gut as seeing all the families.

They had not spoken of it since. She assumed this was fine with him, since he had been the one to insist it wasn’t a possibility anyway. He thought her beneath him and not acceptable.

Maybe he was right. They were on different paths, were they not? Different ages. Different backgrounds. They simply wanted different things.

Rey’s mouth opened in concentration as she curled her eyelashes and smeared on mascara. She forced herself to pucker her lips to line them, and not to think of how it had felt when he had kissed her.

It was just a kiss, one stupid kiss.

Lipstick filled in the liner and she pressed her lips on a tissue to blot it before applying a second coat. She placed her makeup back in her cosmetics bag and she stood on tiptoes, then twisted this way and that examining her appearance.

A familiar knock on her door interrupted her thoughts of how even smelling his aftershave made her feel weak.

“Girl!” Finn’s eyebrows shot up when she opened the door for him. “You look fabulous.”

Rey’s lips turned up. “You don’t look so bad yourself,” she replied, taking in Finn’s Sunday best suit. “Come in, I’m almost ready.”

Finn perched on the foot of her bed, legs crossed and leaning back on one arm. “You get any sleep?”

Rey shrugged and slipped on her shoes. “Not really, you?”

“Nah,” Finn shook his head. “What do you think--is this it for us?”

Rey looked at her friend. Either they had three more hours in their jobs, or three more months. They would find out by nine this evening.

“No,” she replied honestly. “I think he’s got the votes and we’re stuck in this til November.”

Finn’s gaze dropped to the carpet and his smile faded a touch.

“Which would you rather it be?” Rey asked when she saw how his face changed.

Finn shrugged and narrowed his eyes at the drapes before answering. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “It’s been a trip working on this campaign,” Finn went on. “Growing up colored? I always knew there were two Americas. But traveling like this, talking to people all over the country, I realized--it’s way more than two. And none of them wants the same thing.”

Rey had a strange, sinking feeling hearing this. She crossed her arms and waited for Finn to continue.

“I think the senator means well,” Finn didn’t look at her as he said this. “But just ‘cause a young, nice-looking white man says we’re all equal doesn’t make it true. We have a long way to go. A long way.”

“I know,” Rey replied.

The moment passed and Finn brightened again. “You ready, peanut?”

Rey crooked her arm for Finn to escort her. “Let’s go be part of history.”

* * *

 

The Grand Ballroom was packed with delegates from every state and Rey found the atmosphere more fitting of a carnival at a state fair than a serious political affair. She didn’t know what she had expected, exactly? Perhaps a somber affair with old men in white wigs doing Important Things.

The room itself was decked to the nines in crepe and balloons covering every surface that held still in a dizzy display of red, white and blue.

“This is nuts,” Finn breathed as they took the stage before the voting began.

And then, there were the people.

The only way Rey could think to describe the melee that lay before them was a parade of different tribes. Each state’s delegates clustered around a signboard bearing their state’s name with a spot below to attach their choice during the voting. Even without the signs it was easy to spot the Western states, their men clad in boots and the cut of their jackets styled differently over the shoulders. A few men from Oregon sported plaid shirts under their blazers in a nod to the lumber industry.

Though they would vote alphabetically, the states were grouped in the room by geographic region, making it difficult to take them in all at once.

“Do you see….?” She pointed as discretely as she could to a woman under Mississippi’s sign clad in an elaborate ball gown that could only be an antebellum costume. Finn blinked once, very slowly.

“What did I just say upstairs?” Finn murmured, keeping as straight a face as he could.

They took their seats on the stage and the party president stepped to the podium to convene.

“Ladies and gentlemen, good evening!”

The room roared with approval.

“As you know, we have gathered tonight to select our nominee for the 1964 Presidential Election of the United States of America. Let us bow our heads and begin with a prayer.”

A hush fell over the hall and Rey chanced a sideways glance at Hux as she obeyed. He folded his hands over his knee but made no move to incline his own head. She would have expected no less from him.

“Heavenly Father.” A military chaplain stepped to the microphone to perform the invocation. “We ask that you guide our hands to do your bidding that we may honor your will as individuals, as states, and as a nation. We pray that you will protect us from forces beyond our control, and remind us that everything good we enjoy flows from you. In the name of your son Jesus we ask this, amen!”

The cheer that went up after the prayer outstripped the previous one and Rey refrained from crossing herself. The chaplain’s wording was distinctly Christian and she wondered how others interpreted it.

“Thank you, Reverend.” The party president resumed speaking. “It is our duty tonight to choose the candidate who best represents the will of the American people, and as such, each state in our great union must choose the man for whom the majority of their delegates has voted. We will begin roll call in alphabetical order, beginning with the state of Alabama. States may pass in the initial round and we will return to you for your decision. Once all states have voted, the tally will be announced and the voting repeated until once candidate remains with a majority of the votes.”

A smattering of applause for the procedural statement followed and the president waited for it to calm once more before he continued.

“Though they need no introduction, I would like to introduce our fine candidates to you once more.”

Ben and the other man, a seasoned politician from Colorado, stood and flanked the president at the podium.

“I’ll introduce these gentlemen in alphabetic order of their states,” the president explained. “From the Rocky Mountain state of Colorado, Governor John McIntyre.”

A cheer from the western and northern Plains delegations drowned out the rest of the President’s introduction.

“And from the Northeastern state of New York, Senator Benjamin Solo.”

Rey found it hard to gauge whose cheer was louder, but Ben smiled and raised his hand in a wave of acknowledgment just the same. If he was nervous, he hid it well.

The men returned to their seats and the president leaned to the microphone. “Let’s begin. We call on Alabama to post its vote.”

They squinted against the spotlights to find Alabama to their left, sandwiched in a corner alongside Mississippi and Georgia. Their sign lowered for a moment as the official attached their vote.

Rey’s heart pounded as they hoisted it high, turning it slowly away from the stage so that the other states could see it before the candidates. A wave of murmuring and a few bouts of applause followed the sign as it turned ever so slowly towards them.

They breathed a collective sigh of relief as the president announced the vote. “Let the record show Alabama has voted for Senator Solo.”

The party secretary nodded and scribbled and the vote went on. Alaska and Arizona predictably went to McIntyre, and then Arkansas elected to pass.

Rey caught Hux’s eye and he shrugged almost imperceptibly. They hadn’t expected to carry all the states, especially ones they hadn’t visited.

California went to them in a show of party solidarity, Colorado naturally for its own man, and Connecticut, the first of their local area, to Ben. The sheer number of states didn’t matter; what mattered was that they carried the most populous ones, and so far, Ben was winning.

“We’re ahead,” Finn whispered. He was keeping tally on a notepad and Rey noticed he had the number they needed written and circled at the top of the sheet.

Rey kept a straight face as the vote continued tediously, with each state showing the audience their choice before the candidates. She chanced a peek at Finn’s notepad when they reached the New states: New Hampshire and Jersey to Ben, New Mexico to McIntyre, and naturally New York to Ben. She glowed to see that they were ahead by a considerable margin.

With every new state that posted his name, Rey felt a glimmer growing in her midsection. They had done this, all of them together. She had a healthy sense of skepticism about their chances coming into the convention, but it was starting to become real. Everything they had worked for was coming together. She studied her hands in her lap and when she glanced up, she caught Ben looking over at her.

He had avoided her over the past three weeks and she was fine with that.

Their eyes met now and she looked at him for a long moment before breaking eye contact.

Let him look. Rey crossed her legs and didn’t bother to adjust her skirt as it rode up her thighs.

“We call Washington state to post its vote,” the president intoned.

Washington state followed its West Coast neighbors and hoisted Ben’s name on their sign.

“I don’t think it matters how the states who passed vote,” Finn murmured. “He’s got the votes without them.”

Only Arkansas, Idaho and Washington, DC now remained. Washington, DC went first and their delegates fell to their side as well.

“This concludes the initial role call of the states. We will now return on those who passed,” the president continued without pause. “Alabama, may we have your vote?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Mitaka spoke up, the din in the hall beginning to rise again and nearly drowning out his voice. “The remaining states don’t have enough votes for McIntyre to get the majority.”

Rey looked at Ben, who looked at Hux. They both looked shellshocked.

“Holy _shit_ ,” Finn exclaimed. “Holy shit, we did it!”

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen.” The president turned and conferred with the party secretary. “I’m thrilled to say we have a clear winner and there’s no need for a re-vote.”

Both candidates’ teams stood and the men stepped forwards again, flanking the podium.

“I’m also pleased to say we’re making history tonight in a couple different ways,” the party president turned and glanced at each of the candidates before continuing. “This is the first time in the twentieth century the party has chosen a nominee in a single round of voting. Either you must really love this guy, or you’re all really eager to get out of here and get on with celebrating!”

The audience gave a good-natured chuckle before the president went on.

“We’ve also chosen the youngest man in history to be our representative in the presidential election!”

Rey tried not to fidget as Ben stepped forwards to shake the president’s and secretary’s hands before turning to McIntyre and offering a conciliatory squeeze on the man’s shoulder. McIntyre nodded and offered his congratulations before stepping back to stand with his wife.  

“Senator Solo,” the president asked. “Do you accept the party’s nomination as our candidate for President of the United States?”

“I do,” Ben replied, “And thank you. And to all of you!” He pointed out into the dark of the ballroom and a deafening cheer went up from the audience. “Thank you, and God bless America!”

* * *

With the obligatory speeches out of the way, the victory party kicked into high gear. Champagne flowed freely, waiters circulated amongst the densely packed room with trays of hors d'oeuvres, and other staff wheeled in lavish-looking carving stations.

Rey's stomach growled at the sight of the prime rib when they lifted the hood and she stuffed another mushroom tarte in her mouth to stave off her hunger. She no longer cared if she was sucking in her stomach. It was past nine and she was starving.

Phasma arrived and she stood at Hux’s side, dutifully shaking hands and making small talk. A throng of reporters surrounded Ben but he waved her away when she made to approach them. Rey was content to enjoy herself and coast, at least for this moment.

“Miss?” Another waiter approached with a tray of champagne flutes and she gratefully retrieved another.

“Thank you,” she tipped her glass at the young man.

“Of course,” he smiled back. “Big deal, huh?”

Rey smiled. “Yes, thanks.”

A familiar voice startled her from behind. “I don’t suppose you’d do an old man like me a favor and help start the dancing in here?”

Rey spun to find Han behind her, hands clasped behind his back and a shit-eating grin stretching his grizzled cheeks from ear to ear.

“Governor!” Rey exclaimed, “I didn’t realize you were here!”

“I just got here,” Han huffed. Rey noticed he always seemed breathless, like he had just landed for a second to deliver a message before tearing off again in another direction. “Leia stayed home and sends her regrets. She’s been feeling a bit rough around the edges.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, and that I didn’t get a chance to say goodbye and thank you after the Fourth.” Rey took a delicate sip of her champagne. “It was very generous of you to host us all.”

Han looked embarrassed. “That was all Leia’s doing, really. It was no trouble.”

“Knowing your son, I doubt that,” Rey chuckled. “Shall we?”

She slipped her half-empty drink into Finn’s outstretched hand and took Han’s on the dancefloor.

It was hard to ignore the reporters who gathered at the edge of the crowd, eagerly snapping photos of her dancing with the governor, but she kept her eyes on her partner as Han swung her in a lilting rhythm to match the music the jazz band played. He was clearly a polished dancer, leading her even when her feet were clumsy, with good posture and timing.

The song transitioned to a slow one and someone tapped Rey’s shoulder.

Reluctantly she turned to find Ben standing next to them.

“May I?” He directed his question not to her, but to his father. “Hey, Dad.”

“Ben!” Han exclaimed, pulling his son into a gruff hug. “Congratulations!”

“Thanks,” Ben clapped Han once on the back. “Where’s Mom?”

Han waved his hand. “Stayed home, not feeling well. You two should dance--I need a drink.”

He retreated to the edge of the dance floor and left them standing amongst the other couples.

“Well?” Ben offered her his hand. “Humor me?”

Rey felt her cheeks flame as she accepted his hand. It dwarfed her own and was very warm. He’d removed his jacket and his tie was loose.

All around them, the flashbulbs popped.

“Congratulations,” he said softly, bending to her so only she could hear him.

“What for?” Rey asked. “You’re the candidate.”

“You’re right, you’re better with words than I am,” Ben shrugged affably. Rey stiffened as his hand slid a touch higher up her back, under the edge of her jacket. “I always say the wrong thing to you.”

Rey’s cheeks grew hot and she bit her lip. Was this an apology of sorts? Here, in the middle of this crowd with everyone watching?

“I get it from my dad’s side,” Ben went on. “I guess we’re destined to always be Solo.”

Rey shook her head in exasperation but couldn’t help to laugh at his terrible pun.

“And to think you’re still single,” Rey’s eyes crinkled as she looked up at him. “With this type of wit!”

“You know you love it,” Ben murmured, his lips very close to her ear.

A shiver ran down her spine and Rey felt her eyelids grow heavy. Ben curled his outstretched arm in towards his shoulder until her hand touched it.

Rey closed her eyes and swayed with him and listened to the band, her mind filling in the lyrics to the popular standard.

_I'll find you in the morning sun_

_And when the night is new_

_I'll be looking at the moon_

_But I'll be seeing you_   

 _I do_ , Rey thought as the song ended and the crowd began to applaud.

 _I do_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The 1964 Democratic National Convention was held in Atlantic City, and this chapter takes its title from the Bruce Springsteen song of the same name. I based my description of the voting roll call on Wikipedia's entry, so I hope it was moderately realistic: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/United_States_presidential_nominating_convention
> 
> The song lyrics at the end are [I'll Be Seeing You](https://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/billieholiday/illbeseeingyou.html). 
> 
> Come say hi on Tumblr - I'm @theafterglow-writes!


	12. A Time to Every Purpose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick housekeeping note: I elected to deliver this slightly shorter chapter early instead of waiting until Monday, because the *next* chapter is going to be rather long. In the immortal words of Jurassic Park, hold onto your butts. It's going to more like 10 days before you get Chapter 13. :)

_August 3, 1964_

_Washington, D.C._

“Look Senator, with all due respect--”

“Bob, please.” Ben interrupted the man seated before him in the office. “Don’t bullshit me. You only say that when you want to say something insulting. So out with it.”

Robert Mulavey was a senior member of Congress from Illinois who’d almost served longer than Ben had been alive. Despite this, they normally got along in committees and had authored several bills together, so Ben knew he could be coarse without offending. It had seemed like a natural fit when the party leadership had suggested him as Ben’s running mate. Bob had made an tentative bid himself for this year’s race but a lackluster showing in the primaries meant he’d thrown his weight behind Ben early on.

The elder man looked sheepish and glanced at his own campaign manager, William, before continuing.

“We’ve discussed it, and we think your team might need some… reworking. For this phase of your campaign.”

Ben looked between them, leaned back in his chair, and laced his fingers over his head. It was his classic stalling stance, one he’d inherited directly from Han. “Is something wrong with my team?”

The men looked at each other once more and at the ground in front of Ben’s desk. His running mate’s manager spoke up now. William was a seasoned Washington insider, having worked on numerous congressional and presidential campaigns.

“Nothing’s wrong with them. You’ve gotten this far, and that’s very impressive. But as Bob said, we’re moving into a new, joint phase and we would like to bring in some of our own people.”

“Specifically?” Ben had a hunch what was coming and he wanted to make them work for it.

“Well, to start with, your press officer is pretty--” Bob broke off searching for the word and for a moment, Ben’s eyebrows lifted in surprise at what he appeared to be saying: _your press officer is pretty_?

“Pretty green,” Bob’s colleague supplied. “Sure, your gal’s been exceeding expectations til now, but you have to consider the complexity of this new phase. It’s not just print anymore-- the debates are televised, there’ll be radio appearances--”

Ben sat forward at this. “With all due _respect_ , gentlemen, the last election’s debate was the first ever. So I don’t see that you have some great well of expertise to draw on there.”

Their lips formed lines.

“And,” Ben forged on the face of their silence, “Rey’s helped organize plenty of press events for other forms of media already since she joined us in April. She and Finn work very well together in that regard.”

Bob coughed at this and Ben wasn’t sure the man wasn’t coughing just to cover his astonishment.

“About that,” Bob took a careful swallow of water from the glass Maz had placed in front of him. “Are you sure it’s smart to hitch your wagon on all that so soon?”

Ben turned his fountain pen slowly over on his desk before answering. He knew exactly what Bob was getting at, and it irritated him. He took a deep breath against the bead of irritation in his midsection.

“On all of what?”

William looked exasperated. “You know on what, Senator. Don’t be dense.”

“I’m just making sure we’re talking about the same thing here.”

“On--you know!” Bob was making a circular motion with his meaty free hand and despite the annoyance, Ben had to stifle a grin at how awkward this was getting.

Bob leaned forward and rasped the phrase as though it were a secret passcode. “Civil rights issues.”

“Oh, _that_!” Ben nodded. “You mean it’s a liability to have a girl and a colored man working on my campaign.”

The elder men shifted uncomfortably in their chairs at his blunt assessment. The only sound was the muted clacking of Maz’s keyboard and the engines of the cars that passed by on the street below. The phone rang in the foyer and Maz’s typing went quiet while she answered.

“Well, first of all,” Ben shifted into debate mode. “They’re not running for office, Bob, we are. Second, the American people have been working together side-by-side for a long time in support of _one nation, under God_ , so isn’t it about time we started giving those same people a say in the government?”

“We know that, Ben,” William interrupted with authority. “We’re not saying you have to get rid of your staffers. We’re just asking you to consider that you’re already an…. unusual candidate. Why handicap yourself out of the gate?”

Ben ignored the slight to his judgement and kept talking. “I’m not interested in championing ideals of the past, gentlemen. The past is over. We have to look to the future. What kind of America are we building for fifty years from now? A hundred? Change has to begin somewhere.”

Bob grimaced. “What if you keep him on and we bring on our press guy in place of the gir--woman?”

“Rey stays,” Ben strung her name out until it was almost two syllables. “They both stay.”

William huffed, got up and poured himself a finger’s worth of Scotch without asking. Ben tracked him as he took a turn around the room and stopped to study Han’s portrait. William spoke without turning back to them.

“Senator, people are already talking more about you dancing with that girl than about your platform. Is that really what you want?”

Now it was Ben’s turn to huff. Jesus Christ, so they’d danced! It was free country, wasn’t it?

“It’s still a long time until November, and it was a party,” he countered. “What about this: we bring on your guy, and he co-chairs press with Rey?”

Bob twisted in his seat to meet William’s eyes as William turned part way back towards them. Bob shrugged.

Ben recognized Bob’s gesture from a million committee meetings. A glimmer of satisfaction replaced the nervousness in his gut.

“We appreciate that, Ben,” William tipped his glass. “I’ll ask Hux set it up.”

“Good,” Ben nodded. It didn’t feel good, though, and he wondered how Rey would take the news. She could be headstrong, but hopefully she would see this compromise was for the greater good.

Bob rose stiffly from his seat and gathered his suit coat. “Thanks, Ben. I knew I could count on you to be reasonable.”

It wasn’t lost on Ben that he’d used that same word against Rey when she’d come to see him a few months ago. _Reasonable_ was one of those tricky legal words that seemed simple on the surface but held myriad meanings depending on context and the parties involved. One man’s reasonable might be another’s impossible. In Ben’s estimation, it was a lazy lawyer word, designed to make legalese flexible but invariably leading to more confusion and strife down the line. He stood now too, mirroring his visitors.

“Thanks for coming by, gentlemen. I’ll let Hux know he’ll hear from you, William.”

Ben stepped to the door and held it for the men. They donned their hats, said goodbye to Maz, and were out the door.

“Ullllgh,” Ben groaned after the door clicked closed behind them, scratching his shoulderblades on the edge of his office doorframe. “That was fucking annoying.”

Maz made no remark on that but instead held out a slip.

“Your father called, wouldn’t leave a message. Says you need to call him immediately.”

Ben stood with his hands on his hips and accepted it. Maz never referred to Han as his father; she always used Han’s title, even in relation to Ben: Governor Solo. It struck him as odd.  

“No message?”

Maz shrugged and ashed her cigarette. “Not that he shared.”

Ben looked at her scribble: _Call Governor Solo ASAP. --MK_   

“Thanks,” he replied and retreated into his office. He tossed the slip on the pile along with the others from earlier in the day and resolved to call his parents later in the evening. He wasn’t in the mood to talk to them, not just now. Their favorite thing was to each pick up a line in the house and both try to talk to him at once. They’d been doing it ever since he started at boarding school and it drove him crazy. One of their voices was always very quiet and the other very loud, and he would hang up feeling like he hadn’t really talked to either of them. He’d barely gotten to speak with his father at the convention party and Han had returned to New York the next morning after spending more time with the campaign staff than his own son.

Han had taken an obvious shine to Rey for reasons he couldn’t quite fathom. She in turn had an easy, jovial air around his father, a sparkle in her eye as she joked with Han that hit him straight in the gut.

He supposed this was what jealousy felt like.

Ben poured himself a finger of Scotch now too and shook his head at the notion that he was competing with his own father.  

The intervening week between the convention and today had been a non-stop whirlwind for him and the team. Sleep seemed like a luxury he would never have again.

He was hopelessly behind in his committee work and he half-heartedly opened the first folder in his pile to stare at the research. The words swam in front of his eyes. The committee’s intern had prepared a good brief, sparing them the tedious work of researching themselves, but the summary of taxation theory alone was impenetrably dense.

Ben glanced up at his father’s portrait on the wall and his hand hovered over his phone for a moment before he thought better of it.

These reports would not read themselves, but neither could Ben discipline himself to continue sitting here. Not this late in the afternoon on a Friday when all he could think about was lying on his couch and falling asleep with the television on. It was baffling, but he was somehow always able to sleep on the couch even when sleep eluded him at night in bed. He would wake with a start at one or two in the morning bathed in the blue-white light, feeling like he’d been drugged. It was the most peaceful sleep he could imagine. He’d tried to replicate it countless times on the road, alone his hotel room, but the effect was never the same as his couch.  

He managed fifteen more minutes before he stood and stretched, then resolved to stop by the campaign office to talk to Hux in person about the integration of Mulavey’s people. The possibility of seeing Rey there was an added bonus that he shoved down inside.

Maz had left already for the weekend when he emerged from his office and locked the door.

Outside, he looked at the bus stop but a quick check of his watch showed he’d just missed it and he elected to walk. The office was less than a mile away. It was five-thirty in the evening and the sun was getting lower in the sky, yet it was still stiflingly hot. He passed a couple women sitting out on their stoop and they tittered when he passed. He gave a shy wave and they broke out into full giggles.

“I’ll vote for you, honey!” One of them called out from behind him.

“Thank you!” Ben walked backwards a few steps to acknowledge them with a nod before turning back forwards, a stupid grin plastered on his face. He wasn’t used to this level of recognition and for now, it was still novel.

The clock was edging towards six when he sauntered through the door of the office that had been only been stenciled with “Solo-Mulavey 1964” two days before. He stopped to admire the job, crisp black lettering edged in metallic gold. It looked official. Boxes of campaign signs and buttons had already been printed and delivered and he sidestepped the towers of cardboard in the foyer to reach the inner office.

“Hey everyone,” Ben called. “Who’s ready for a drink?”

They were seated around the table in the middle of the room and turned to look at him as one. He had apparently interrupted a meeting of some sort, and Ben made a mental note to tease Hux for inflicting cruel and usual punishment so late in the afternoon.

“Ben!” Hux shot up from his chair. “I--”

“What’s going on?” He cut Hux off, taking in their expressions. It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. Surely William hadn’t already called over here?

His team glanced at each other warily and it was then that he noticed Rey’s eyes looked red and puffy.

“Your dad called here a little bit ago,” Hux replied. He sounded hoarse. “You didn’t call him back, did you.”

“My dad called here? Why?”

“Ben, it’s--” Hux shook his head. “Leia. Your mom died.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know where to @ me! ;)


	13. I Remember You Well

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It turns out I overestimated how long it would take me to write this. This is not a drill! Two Saturdays in a row, folks! Enjoy.

Four days later, the day of Leia’s funeral dawned drizzly and chilly for early August, with flat gray clouds blocking out the sun.

The team had driven up the night before, the roads ever narrower and winding through the dense upstate forests. The funeral home sat at the edge of town and the parking lot overflowed with cars parked along the narrow road halfway into the ditches.

Rey and Phasma snagged chairs at the back of the room and waited for the service to begin. Ben stood near the front with his father receiving guests. The women didn’t have a chance to approach the men to give their regards as a steady stream of mourners kept the Solos occupied. And if there were space for one more floral arrangement around the casket, Rey couldn’t see where. Sprays of gladiolus in every color imaginable perfumed the room and a very large arrangement of white roses stood near the center.

“I just can’t believe she’s gone,” Phasma repeated for what felt like the millionth time, dabbing gently at the corner of her eye with a handkerchief. “We just saw her.”

Rey pressed her hand against her friend’s forearm but said nothing. The time since Han’s call to the office on Friday had passed both quickly and geologically, the entire team re-deployed to fielding press questions and making arrangements to excuse Ben from prior commitments to see to burying his mother. Rey had drafted the official press notice herself.

_We regretfully announce the passing of Mrs. Leia Organa Solo on Friday August 4, 1964 due to complications of a stroke. Mrs. Solo will be laid to rest on Tuesday, August 8 at Mountain Oaks Cemetery following a memorial service at O’Hara-Meacham Funeral Home in Albany, New York at four o’clock in the afternoon._

_Mrs. Solo is survived by her husband of 31 years, New York State Governor Han Solo, and her son, US Senator Benjamin Solo._

_The family requests privacy during this difficult time. Gifts may be made in Mrs. Solo’s name to the Leukemia Research Unit at Children’s Memorial Hospital in New York City._

Han’s call had stopped them all short. He was still at the hospital and wasn’t making any sense when Hux tried to get a word in to ask questions.

“Fuck,” Hux had breathed the word when he hung up, staring at the receiver. “Leia just died.”

“Who are all these people?” Rey murmured quietly to Phasma. The room was already packed to standing room only and the funeral director hovered nervously at Ben’s elbow in an attempt to start the service but did not approach to interrupt.

Rey had been watching Ben as closely as she could without staring. His default expression always bordered on a scowl, so it was difficult to gauge how he was holding up. He’d left Friday evening to join his father at home and she hadn’t seen him until just now.

Besides, she didn’t expect him to acknowledge her with the number of people crowded around him. There would be plenty of time for that later.

“Friends of the family, I suppose,” Phasma replied at last. “They know so many people. I hope half this many come to my funeral when I die.”

Rey hadn’t thought that much about her own mortality.

The funeral director finally found his balls and stepped forward to grasp Han’s elbow lightly, gesturing for him to take a seat at the front. Han still looked shellshocked; he was a man in a daze who was shadow of his normal, good-humored self. Ben appeared to be bearing the brunt of stoic mourning for them both.

A minister clad in a long black robe stepped to the lectern and adjusted the microphone before beginning. Rey wondered what denomination the man was.

“Friends, family, colleagues. We are gathered here together to celebrate the life and mourn the passing of Leia Organa Solo. Please, bow your heads with me as we ask our Father in heaven to hear our prayers.”

For once, Hux bowed his head right along with them.

“Dear God,” the minister intoned, “Sinful beings as we are, it is not for us to know your will. We can only ask that you reveal your plan to us, and comfort our hearts and minds when you do the unexpected. May you help us to understand your plan for calling your daughter Leia home now as we celebrate your gracious gift of her life amongst us here on earth. In the name of your Son we ask this, amen.”

The audience echoed the amen and there was a brief pause as the speakers changed. The only sound in the hall was a stifled cough and the guests shifting in their chairs.

A rotating cast of friends and colleagues stepped to the front to relay anecdotes, recite poems, read from the Scriptures. If anything, the service seemed staid to Rey in comparison with the tornado of bossy energy Leia embodied. The hushed, reverent tones the speakers used to describe the deceased felt at odds with the lively, talkative woman she had only met a month ago.

She had only been to two previous funerals.       

Rey rode with Hux and Phasma to the cemetery. The clouds that had crowded the sky since sunrise were darkening and a few drops dotted the windshield as they slogged up the small hill to the gravesite. The crowd thinned between the funeral home and the cemetery.

Han, Ben, and Tony took up their places in a row next to the casket. Tony cried openly and clutched a handkerchief in his fist.

The minister opened his Bible and began to read, wiping away drops of rain as they hit the tissue-thin pages.

“The word of the Lord as written by King Solomon in the book of Ecclesiastes,” he began.

_To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven._

_A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and time to pluck up that which is planted._

Phasma choked back an audible sob beside her at the passage and Hux placed his arm around her shoulders.

Rey bowed her head as the verses were read but she snuck a glance at Ben across the open grave. He stared slightly above the heads of the crowd gathered at the burial site with his hands folded stiffly in front of him.

_A time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;_

_A time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace._

As if he could feel her looking, his eyes met hers and Rey bit her lips. He looked away after a beat and she thought he mouthed something, a single word she couldn’t make out.

“... into your hands, we commend her spirit. Amen!” The minister finished.

“Amen,” the mourners repeated and then the heavens opened. Black umbrellas went up around them and the crowd hurried back to their cars.

 

* * *

Rey had seen her fair share of hotel bars thus far in 1964: small ones, large ones, old ones and sad ones. Some were elegant while others were slightly tacky.

They all served their purpose, and she had grown fond of collecting the matchbooks from each one. No matter how remote or small, the hotel bar had its own design, and it reminded her of all the places they’d been.

This one struck her as both sad and old. The walls were a dark wood pine paneling reminiscent of the cabin she’d summered at in Canada with her parents. A few red leatherette booths studded with brass tacks lined one wall under wicker shades casting little light over the tables. By the time she ditched her bag in her room, the rest of the team were gathered a high table in the middle with barstools and were nursing drinks. Only the men were present when she entered the bar.  

“Hey,” she greeted them. “Where’d everyone else go?”

“Phas took something and is lying down,” Hux shrugged. “She’s really upset, said she wanted to be alone.”

 Rey nodded but didn’t comment. Phasma had been surprisingly, demonstrably upset at the ceremony, moreso than Rey had expected.

“Did the Senator go up to his room too, or is he still with his dad?” Finn asked.

 Hux cracked a smile, however small, for the first time in days. “Ben’s in his room. Four days straight with Han is enough to make him homicidal.”

“Alone?” Rey asked.

Hux shrugged. “I think he wants to be alone.”

 They all looked at each other, no one sure what to do at this point. Since Friday, everything up until now had been carefully choreographed and scheduled and they were at a loss to know how they should feel.

 “I’m going to get another drink,” Finn offered. “Can I get you something? Your usual?”

“Thanks,” Rey accepted gratefully. “And-- a matchbook, please.”  She struggled up onto the tall barstool. The dress she’d chosen had little give to the fabric and she felt hobbled by her outfit.

“What a day,” Hux said miserably. “I never thought I’d say this, but I can’t wait to go back to work.” He tugged at his tie until the knot loosened and he undid the top button on his dress shirt. “I can’t believe it’s only Tuesday.”

“Amen,” Finn replied, sliding the tumbler of booze across the wood table to her.

Rey raised her glass half-heartedly. “To Leia?”

“Here, here,” they toasted and took a hearty swig.

No one dared say it, but it felt strange being gathered without having Ben with them. While they had their friendships outside of work, he was the glue that had brought them together. Without him, an awkward vibe sometimes fell over them in each other’s company.

“Has anyone talked to Ben? Really talked to him?” Rey wondered out loud.

The men looked sheepish but no one answered her. Rey sighed aloud and swirled the alcohol over the ice cubes. The bartender had used enough ice for a Coca-cola and it was already diluting her drink.

“Well, maybe someone should check on him,” she muttered half to herself.

When no one offered, Rey looked up from her drink to realize they were all looking at her.

“Oh, what? No!” Rey cried. “Why are you all looking at me like that?”Her colleagues shifted on their stools and averted their eyes again.

“Because,” Finn tried. “Y’know.” He turned his glass in the ring of condensation on the table. “Cuz you’d be the best of any of us.”

Rey’s eyes widened before narrowing to scowl at her friend. “Because isn’t a reason, it’s a conjunction!”

They looked uncomfortable and Rey had the distinct feeling like they’d discussed this and made a decision without her before she’d arrived.

“This had better not be because I’m a _woman_ ,” she sneered. “It’s not like I have special organs that make me better at dealing with grief than the rest of you!”

“Rey, no!” Dopheld, normally so stoic, spoke up suddenly. “We know that. We just thought since you’ve been in the same situation--”

“Because you know what it’s like,” Hux interrupted Mitaka. “Better than we do.”

Rey’s mouth fell open at this and she glanced at each of their faces. They were studiously avoiding her eyes and looking into their drinks.

“Oh,” she said shortly, the realization dawning on her.

 _Because of her parents_.  

She supposed it wasn’t an unreasonable assumption, not on the surface. Rey pressed her lips together and scowled at the liquid in her glass.

“We could do it together?” She suggested this halfheartedly, knowing no one would agree to join her.

“That might seem like an ambush, don’t you think?” Hux crinkled his nose. “I don’t want him to feel like we’re rushing him back to the campaign. Even though….” He trailed off without saying what they were all thinking. The first debate was already the following week. The opposition’s team had not taken the suggestion of rescheduling kindly, and some words that didn’t bear repeating had been said. Hux had been as red as his hair when he’d hung up in anger from that call.

Rey glanced around at them once more before picking up her drink and draining it with a long gulp. The cold whiskey burned as it went down and pooled in her stomach. So the senator’s well-being was her burden to bear. She pushed aside a nagging thought of the last time she’d gone to Ben’s door alone.  

“You are such a bunch of fucking cowards,” she spat at them. She tucked her purse beneath her elbow and slid off the stool as gracefully as she could manage.

“He’s in three-sixteen,” Hux called after her.

She didn’t look back as she exited the bar, her middle finger raised over her head.  

 

* * *

 

The hotel was only three stories, but Rey rode the elevator to the top. Her dress shoes were pinching her toes and she didn’t care to walk up the stairs.

She could only pretend to admire the art prints of red-coated riders following the hounds in the hallway by the elevator for so long before she took a deep breath and proceeded down the corridor.

Her first, gentle knock went unanswered and she retreated a little ways back down the hall in relief before steeling herself to knock once more.

The only sound she could hear was a maid vacuuming in another room with the door open, her cart wedged against the wall.

Rey crossed her arms and pursed her lips to one side. Could Ben not hear her knocking with the background noise? Against her better judgement, she ignored the Do Not Disturb sign, tried the door and found it open.

She entered the darkened room, noting that the lights were off.

“Ben?” she called hesitantly. She didn’t see him anywhere in the dim light.

“Oh, hey Rey,” he slurred. He slouched in the arm chair with it turned towards the windows, staring out at the dusk. Rain pelted the sliding glass door. The room smelled slightly of mildew and more strongly of alcohol.

Rey perched behind him on the edge of the bed, taking in the scene. The comforter was still neatly folded, pulled up to the pillows and turned down at the corner. Only the mints had been moved to the end table. The styrofoam ice bucket sat empty on the desk.

Neither of them spoke and Rey counted four minutes on the alarm clock.

“The guys thought I should come check on you,” she ventured. When there was no response, she continued. “I’m sorry about Leia, Ben. I wish I’d gotten to know her better.”

He snorted. “That makes two of us.”

His blunt answer caused her stomach to sink. Leia had seemed so warm when they’d met. They hadn’t spent much time together but Leia had stopped moving for a second or two to ask Rey a few questions about her background and her work. It had felt genuine, if brief. There was something in Leia’s manner that made Rey feel like it was impossible to lie to her.

“I know what it’s like,” she went on. “To lose a parent.”

“It’s fine,” Ben retorted, taking another swig of his drink. “I’ll be fine.” His glass hit the side table with a soft thud.

She rose at this, crossed her arms and walked beside him, into his field of vision. His tie was loose and his shirt sleeves pushed up, his cufflinks cast aside on the side table he’d dragged near the chair. He didn’t look at her.

“You’re not fine,” she breathed.

“Sorry you drew the short straw,” he said bitterly. He glanced up at her then and she could see he was struggling to look hard. “But I’m a grown-up. You can tell them to quit worrying. I’ll be fine.”

She resisted the urge to snap at him for this show of bravado. He was obviously upset, whether he knew it or not.

“It’s alright to be sad. If you need more time, we can just rearrange some things--”

“Rearrange?!” Ben scoffed and sank further down in the chair. “We don’t rearrange for feelings. She taught me that much.” He adopted a fake British accent, one that perfectly mimicked Leia’s fading upper crust tone. “‘Stiff upper lip and carry on, Ben!’ Just like her mother, that one.”

Rey just looked at him. The rain at the burial had destroyed his hair and it was hanging across his forehead and into one eye. The ends curled and she noticed how it was even longer that it had been in July. He closed his eyes wearily and his head lolled back against the faded floral upholstery of the chair.

“Sorry,” he muttered. “It’s not your fault.”

Rey was silent for a long moment before answering, “It’s not yours either.”

“I’m just…” Ben shook his head slowly without opening his eyes. “I’ve never felt so alone.”

“You’re not alone,” Rey whispered and closed the gap between them to brush the hair away from his face. His eyes flew open at her touch and her heart lurched to see how boyish he looked as he gazed up at her. Ben sat up and leaned forward into her hand. His arms went around her waist and she swayed against him. He pressed his forehead against her stomach and nuzzled the fabric of her dress.

“Neither are you.” His reply was so soft his voice was nearly lost in her skirt.   

Rey’s fingers tangled in his hair behind his head and she closed her eyes when she felt the sudden rush of heat between her thighs. The weight of his arms against the soft flesh of her sides touched off the ache that she had been denying for months. She had pictured this moment a hundred times, a thousand ways, but nothing had prepared her adequately for how seductive it would feel to finally stop resisting.  

His grip tightened and his sharp intake of breath made her look down once more. Rey saw the look that had come over his features. The lost boy was replaced by a wolf.    

“Ben,” she managed before he surged up from the chair and pulled her up flush against him.

Her mouth slanted over his as he stumbled backwards towards the bed. Rey tried to lift her legs to wrap them around him but her dress was too tight over her hips and her knees knocked against his thighs. He turned when his legs bumped the edge of the mattress, laying her down with a gentleness that belied the urgency she felt.

Never had Rey felt so desperate to feel someone’s skin against hers. Clothes were the most unnecessary invention mankind had ever made and her fingers shook as she tried to unbutton his shirt, her hips bucking up as his hand snaked under her hemline and his thumb brushed the cleft  of her sex through her pantyhose. She whimpered into his mouth at the contact and outright moaned when the flat of his hand covered the same spot.

 “Mmmppphf,” Ben panted as he broke their kiss. “Are you sure about this?” His lips hovered just over hers and her only response was to pull him down again with her hand on his neck. His hand retreated and he balled his fist in the material of her skirt. It tightened around the backs of her thighs and she relished the sensation of being caught, held at his mercy.  

Rey finally managed his buttons and began to ease the damp material off his broad shoulders. He drew back from her to free his arms and she propped up on her elbow to watch as he stripped of his undershirt in one smooth motion. It joined his dress shirt on the foot of the bed. He crawled back over her and her hands went instinctively to his chest.

“Ben, do you have--” Rey broke off and she could feel a flush rising to her cheeks. He looked down at her and there was no denying the lust in his eyes. “I mean, I have something if you don't. In my room.”

Rey felt nervous when he did not answer right away, but instead ducked his head and kissed the line of her neck from behind her ear to the span of her shoulder. Would she risk it if he said no? Go to her room and not come back? Her eyes fluttered closed and she lay very still in anticipation, but her resolve was weakening with every brush of his whiskers against the tender skin of her throat.

“You always surprise me, Rey,” Ben’s voice was husky and close to her ear. She practically writhed with longing at the sound. “I have some.”

Relief flooded through her and she felt so many conflicting things in that moment: stupid and innocent, but also bold and worldly. Ben pushed up and went to his bag. She sat up and wriggled out of her underwear and stockings, then knelt on the bed in anticipation.

Ben doubled back from locking the door, tossed the box on the bed near the pillows and held out his hand. “C’mere,” he beckoned her to the edge.

Rey shuffled forward to him obediently and he cupped her chin to tilt her face to his. He fumbled only for a moment with the tiny button above the zipper down her back, then broke his kiss to work the offending material up and over her head. His lips met hers a second later and then it was his turn to gasp as her hands pried open the buckle of his belt. There was no way to avoid brushing her fingers against his manhood where it strained against the fly of his trousers as she opened them and her pulse throbbed between her legs when she saw how he stilled at the slightest contact.

“Lie down,” she commanded.

He obeyed without hesitation and she threw her leg over him. He bucked against her and she clapped her hand over her mouth to keep from crying out at the sensation of his underwear being soaked with her wetness. Ben’s hands found her breasts and she nearly doubled as he gave them a possessive squeeze. She bit her bottom lip to silence herself and drew her slip over her head. The pile at the foot of the bed grew.

To her surprise, Ben crooked one elbow behind his head and chuckled.

Rey froze at the sound. Was he laughing at… her?

“What?”

“It’s so dumb,” Ben’s eyes crinkled in amusement but he looked embarrassed. He attempted to sober when he saw her expression.  “It’s just… I’m laughing because I’ve been wondering if you had freckles on your stomach, too.”

“My stomach?” Rey hazarded a glance down at her own midsection. Aside from a small mole near her navel, it was an unbroken, creamy expanse.

“Yeah, your stomach,” Ben sat up and gripped her waist again. He glanced down at her middle before meeting her her eyes and continuing. “And your back. And your thighs. And your… your silly little tits.”

A bolt of longing shot through Rey’s midline at his confession. Before she could chicken out, she spit out her own.

“And I’ve been wondering if your cock lives up to your big mouth, Senator.”

Ben’s face cycled through his emotions in an instant--shock, amusement, then a trace of uncertainty before he finally swallowed and replied very seriously, “You wanna find out?”

Rey captured his lips once more, her hands pressed flush against his sides of his cheeks.

“Yes,” she whispered, her lips still against his. “Please.”

And then, she found out.

She found out until they lost all track of time.

She found out until well after the sun had set and the only light in this hotel room was the one coming in the window from the light over the parking lot below.

She found out sprawled shamelessly on top of the quilted polyester comforter, until she had forgotten the reason for their even being in this sad, old hotel in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on Tumblr as @theafterglow-writes. 
> 
> The passages the minster reads at Leia's grave are Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 (King James translation). Chapter title from Leonard Cohen's song Chelsea Hotel.


	14. Happening

_August 5, 1964_

 

Ben closed the door of the bathroom and flipped up the lid of the toilet without bothering with the light. It was well past midnight, but the sun had yet to creep over the horizon to lighten the sky. His hotel room still seemed very dark.

He sank wearily to the edge of the tub after flushing, eyes closed and cradling his head in his hands.

With a few deep breaths, Ben assessed himself. He was finally alone for the first time in five days and could think for a moment without his father at his elbow.

He was no longer drunk. His head was clear and he was aware of the cool porcelain against his skin, the tiny tiles beneath his feet, and the chill of the air conditioning pushing out of a vent in the ceiling over his back.

He sighed into the sudden recollection of hiding in the bathroom at night at boarding school, perched on the edge of the toilet with his legs drawn up so no one could see him, the drip of the leaky faucet on the last sink the only sound in the cool, moonlit room.

He hadn’t thought of that in years.

It was the last time he’d felt like he was truly alone before now.

Ben peered out of the door. Rey remained curled under the sheet, a slender bump in the middle of the bed.

A slight scowl passed over his features and he bit his lips in consideration. She had drifted into an exhausted sleep while he had lain awake, the hours ticking endlessly by until he could no longer ignore his bladder. Would she rather to be in her own room? Would he rather that she was?

Ben finally returned to the bed, easing onto it in hopes of leaving her undisturbed.

He lay on his back and listened to her breathing. The soft sound was hypnotic, and he was nearly about to drift off when she spoke.

“Do you want me to go?”

Ben curved his body to hers, warm and soft through the thin sheet.

“Only if you want to,” he replied.

There was a brief pause while she twined her fingers between his and pulled his arm tight around her. She glanced over her shoulder at him.

“I’m asking what you want,” she whispered. Her eyes searched his face as if looking for an answer she didn’t want to hear.

Oh, sweet girl. She deserved better. Better than this stupid hotel room, better than him.

“Stay,” he whispered back. “Please.”

* * *

 

_August 7, 1964_

_Washington, D.C._

 

“... and Senator, I know you’re young, but you should know better than to expect the federal system to dictate law to the states!”

“Bravo!” Finn applauded Mitaka’s impression of Ben’s opponent with a slow clap.

Ben cracked a smile for what felt like the first time in days. They were practicing for the debate and absent Hux, Mitaka was providing a fine ersatz Congressman Erlandsson.

Mitaka cracked up, a rare but heartwarming sight. “You think? I practiced a little this morning.”

“It was really good,” Ben confirmed. He didn’t doubt for a second that Mitaka had worked on his impression in the mirror while shaving. 

“Alright, stay on track.” Rey interrupted their self-congratulatory banter. “That’s great, Dopheld. Senator, next question.”

Her calling him by his title now gave him a perverse thrill and he shifted slightly against the sensation in his groin. Hux had gone to take a meeting with Mulavey’s press team on the integration with theirs, and Rey became their defacto taskmaster. She looked slightly flustered and irritated, her hair gathered into a sloppy bun with a pencil shoved through it. Wisps of hair had snuck out and framed her face as she sat scowling at the list of possible questions, biting the side of her lower lip in concentration.

They had not discussed what happened in his hotel room after the funeral since returning to Washington. They’d thrown themselves into catching up on the campaign and despite their close quarters had not found a moment alone together since.

“Don’t overthink this.” These were her only words as she’d drawn her stockings back up her legs in the early morning light.

It had served nothing but to shove the issue into the forefront of his mind. What had previously occupied a small corner before somewhere behind the campaign, his congressional work, and the occasional worry about his parents’ well-being now seemingly consumed his thinking. He had lain awake the night before, hardly unusual for him, on the verge of calling her before he’d managed to get ahold of himself.

“Gentlemen,” she continued to read from her paper. “Please give us your thoughts on the continued conflict in Vietnam. How do you see the United States extricating from the conflict, what is the time frame for that resolution, and how do you envision US foreign policy to prevent future conflicts? Senator Solo, you have two minutes.”

Ben hated these questions. Each one felt like a landmine that a hundred generals, scholars and policymakers couldn’t diffuse in a hundred years, let alone two minutes on television.

“Thank you,” he began. “Our country has a tradition to uphold, one of championing peace, truth, and justice throughout the world. Unfortunately, that tradition sometimes means having to take up arms alongside our brothers and sist--”

“Stop,” Finn interrupted him and Rey said simultaneously, “Too hawkish, start over.”

Ben huffed. “The part about arms, or…?”

Mitaka spoke first. “I think you could use this as an opportunity to talk about education and your proposed non-military service-abroad platform? Understanding building bridges, that sort of thing.”

Finn nodded gamely, as he had been a huge part of developing this idea.

“Dopheld’s right,” Rey concurred. “And we don’t want you to get trapped in having to give a timeframe because there’s too many factors out of your control to say that for certain. Stick to the vaguer policy angle.”

Ben scribbled a few notes.

“Alright, so blah blah intro statement. How about... ‘A key piece of my foreign policy is the opportunity to build bridges with less fortunate countries to foster understanding between nations, preventing future conflict. I’m proposing a two-year voluntary service program for our young men and women to embed themselves in communities abroad, helping to teach them English, improve their local infrastructure, and spread the American spirit.’”

Rey looked especially skeptical at the last part.

“Well?” Ben asked, glancing at the men.

“We might need to workshop this a bit,” Finn said gently. “‘Spreading American spirit’ sounds like we’re a disease somehow.”

Rey scribbled notes. “I agree with Finn,” she said without looking up at Ben. “Your wording definitely opens questions about whether you’re a colonialist of some stripe.”

“Shit,” Mitaka swore softly as he looked at his wristwatch. “Guys, I need to take off. Annette will kill me if I miss my kid’s bedtime another night this week.”

Ben glanced at the clock and was surprised to see it creeping towards eight in the evening.

“Go home to your family,” he replied. “There’s still a few days to figure this out.”

Finn looked antsy then as well. He followed Mitaka’s path out the door with his eyes and Ben noticed he was jiggling his leg under the conference table.

“Go,” Rey muttered to him. “You said you’d made plans.”

“Are you sure you won’t come?” Finn rose and looked at him apologetically. “Sorry, Senator--there’s a department thing tonight and--”

“Okay,” Ben rose and tapped his sheaf of papers with a finality on the conference table. “Enjoy yourself. Say hi to Phas if you see her.”

Rey did not look up even after the door clicked closed behind Finn.

Ben studied her profile. The ceiling fan squeaked as it pushed the air lazily overhead. It was still stuffy in the room despite the mechanical help. The sun was low in the sky outside and the room was suffused with a golden light.

Rey’s lips moved as she read the questions to herself, underlining portions of each one and scribbling notes in the margin of her page.

Nearly three minutes passed before he interrupted her.

“Rey, you need to go home. It’s okay to take a break.”

“No, I’m fine! I can keep going if you want to, or--” She waved her hands indecisively, still looking down at her papers.

“I don’t want to,” Ben interrupted and advanced on her slowly.

She hummed, oblivious of him moving closer.

“Rey,” he repeated her name, startling her into sitting upright by drawing her pencil away by its eraser. She looked up him then, looking for all the world like a deer in a car’s headlights.

“Please?” Ben pleaded. “You deserve a break, too.”

“But I don’t have anywhere to be,” she protested. “Or a family to go home to.”

Her confession hit him straight in the gut. He wasn’t responsible for her happiness, but he couldn’t expect  her to work these hours and then be alone.

“Do you wanna…” Ben broke off. Was he crazy? “Come over?”

She blinked at him, her brown eyes softening. “To your place?”

“Yeah,” he mouthed the word as much as he said it.

“I don’t--don’t know where you live,” she stammered a little.

Ben grabbed one of her pieces of paper and scribbled his address on the back.

“Now you do.”

“I’ll think about it,” Rey nodded, looking at the paper.

* * *

 

Ben had never tidied his place so quickly as when he arrived home that evening. His regular cleaning woman had come while he was away for the funeral and left behind a sweet note on the kitchen counter. He stashed it in the utensil drawer after quickly scanning it, making a mental note to ask Maz to send Marie a thank-you note from him on Monday.

The light was fading in the sky and the living room was quickly becoming dark. He turned in a circle there, trying to decide if he’d done enough.

What would this look like to her? He’d never been concerned what a woman might think of his apartment before, but now every detail of it seemed wrong to him.

His books were boring; the couch, a rental. Few pictures aside from one formal portrait of his folks taken after his election to the Senate. A paint-by-number of a tall ship sailing a stormy sea hung in the living room, a gag gift from Hux when they were in law school.

He realized he had no idea where Rey was living here in Washington. The report on her place in the city merely read, _small efficiency unit_ , which seemed to Ben to be an unnecessary oxymoron.

His own was a step up from an efficiency, though it was decidedly on the low-rent end of what his congressional colleagues managed with their salaries. Why spend the money on a place he spent so little time in, especially when he was single? There were better uses of his money. His lone concession to practicality felt like a handicap now when he considered that she’d been to his parent’s house at the beach. As little connection as he felt to the place himself, he could admit it was a very nice house in a very nice neighborhood.

He wondered for a second if his father would keep it with his mother gone.

Ben sank wearily onto the couch with his head cradled on the backrest. He was getting ahead of himself for sure. Why was he worrying whether she’d like his apartment? It wasn’t like he was proposing to her. She wasn’t moving in.

He wasn’t even sure she was coming over for sex.

Ben let out a soft, self-pitying groan as his dick leapt in his trousers at the thought of it, of her: how good she had felt against him, the unexpected resolution of the unspoken tension between them, and the obsessive guilt that had overtaken him since.

How much she enjoyed it.

Above all, that was the biggest surprise. She had been willing.

The doorbell of the intercom startled him and he bolted up and to his door. Ben shook his arms out before reaching for the button on the unit, an ancient thing he suspected had electrical issues that would one day burn the whole place down.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” Rey answered.

Ben’s stomach jumped with an excitement he preferred not to think about too closely.

“Do you want to come up?” He grimaced at his stupid choice of words as soon as he released the button to hear her answer.

There was a brief pause with a static burst before he heard her chuckle.

“No, I’d rather stand in your entryway all night.”

He hit the door button without a second thought.

It took her a few minutes to climb the stairs and by the time she knocked gently on his door, he had oscillated between the couch and standing near the entrance three times. He’d settled on the couch, nervously bouncing his leg.

He sprang to the door but paused a moment to tug his hand through his hair. It wouldn’t do to appear over eager.

“Hey.” She gave him the smallest smile when he let her in.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he blurted out.

Her smile broadened at this and he blushed.

 _He blushed_. What was he, fourteen?

“Come--come over,” Ben corrected himself. “I wasn’t sure you’d come over.”

Rey ignored his gaff and knelt backwards on the couch to inspect the painting. Ben shoved his hands in his pockets and tried to ignore the beautiful heart-shape of her ass. She’d changed clothes since the office and was now sporting a pair of mint green pedal pushers that hugged her behind and a white blouse that was undone a button past strict propriety.

Ben had the oddest sensation now that she was the huntress and he, the prey. He cleared his throat and tried to get command of himself.

“Would you like a drink?”

She hummed, peering closer at the painting. “Yes, please. Whoever did this must’ve used a tiny brush-- the lines are very well done.”

He removed the stopper from the scotch and poured two glasses before answering.

“Hux did that, as a joke.”

She accepted the tumbler over her shoulder and took a sip.

“Armitage is a Renaissance man,” she declared.

Finally she turned back and sat primly on the edge of his couch with her legs crossed. She looked very content and he sank into the armchair across from her.

“What?” Ben asked finally. A half-smile had been on her lips since she’d turned around, and he couldn’t tell why.

“You invited me over,” she said.

“I invited you over,” Ben repeated thickly. “I didn’t want you to be alone.”

“I thought you said we couldn’t happen.” Her eyes glittered with amusement.

“Are we…?” Ben swallowed. “Happening?”

Rey slid her glass onto the coffee table and laced her fingers over her knee.

“I wouldn’t mind if we happened,” she murmured. “We could happen on this couch.” She dragged her knuckles lazily over the rough wool upholstery.

His heart pounded at her innuendo. Was this actually happening? He half expected to wake up and realize he was still drunk and alone in a hotel room in upstate New York.

Rey held out her hand to him, palm up.

“Well?”

Ben rose unsteadily, not breaking her gaze as it followed him upwards.

He prided himself on being a fast learner, so if this was mistake, he would need to make it again to learn his lesson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ben's idea of a service force is of course based on Kennedy's Peace Corps.
> 
> Come say hi on Tumblr - I'm @theafterglow-writes.


	15. The Winner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> INU PSA: I'm out of town next weekend for another wedding, so it'll be a few weeks until I have a new chapter ready! In the meantime, enjoy this one!

_August 11, 1964_

 

Rey couldn’t remember the last time she felt like this. She wasn’t even sure what _this_ was.

If she were asked to describe it, she might’ve said it felt like the roller coaster she had ridden as a girl with her friends at the traveling carnival. They had been so scared to board the tiny metal cars, had clutched each other’s hands as the worker jerked the worn leather seat belts tight across their laps. They had screeched in unison as the car had torn around the tight curves and over the hills, barely clinging to the tracks until it arrived back in the station with an sharp hiss of the brakes, then tumbled out of the enclosure laughing at themselves. The sensation lingered in their young bodies: a fluttering, humming energy derived from a controlled brush with danger that had not proven fatal.

They had jumped straight back in the line to ride again.

Yes, Rey thought, the last week had been just like that. The funeral felt like a stark demarcation in time, a shift as significant as a change in political regimes.

She felt it again every time she caught Ben looking at her out of the tops of his eyes during a meeting.

She felt it thinking of how he’d invited her to his apartment on Friday.

She blushed practically to the roots of her hair when she recalled his requesting a meeting with her in his office.

Alone.

“You’re glowing,” Phasma accused her as they strolled the Mall after lunch on the Tuesday before the first debate.

“What? No, I’m not!” Rey shook her head. “I’m just sweaty.”

Phasma’s eyebrows were clearly visible above her sunglasses.

“Nah, you’re right,” Phasma nodded. Her mouth curved to the side. “The whole Beltway is glowing this time of year.”

Rey shook her head again and made no comment.

“Are you finally getting laid?” Her friend turned and walked backwards in front of her. Phasma had her suit jacket slung over one shoulder and with her short, white-blonde hair slicked back, she cut an androgynous figure that turned heads amongst the boring suits and throngs of tourists in shorts and skirts.

“Butt out!” Rey cried, but her indignation died in an embarrassed giggle that gave her straight away.

“I knew it!” Phasma said smugly. “You have that look.”

“I do not!” Rey pushed her sunglasses up her nose. “And so what if I am?!”

“You know I don’t care about that,” Phas answered. “I’m glad for you! You look the happiest I’ve ever seen you. It’s not good to be so serious all the time.”

Rey tucked her chin to her chest and walked several steps before answering. Phasma resumed her place at Rey’s side and mirrored Rey’s posture. The spring flowers that lined the beds beside the sidewalks had long since lost their blooms and their leaves drooped in the heat.

“There might be someone.”

“Ahhhhh,” Phasma’s tone was knowing. “You just have the look.”

“What look, how am I looking?!” Rey laughed in exasperation. This reminded her of the talks the nuns had given them about the _change of life_ , how boys couldn’t tell just by looking at you whether you’d become a woman or not. But the Heavenly Father could see all things in your heart and mind and He would know if you were having impure thoughts.

Though apparently, Phasma also had this power.

“Like a Cheshire cat,” Phasma pronounced the words with emphasis on the consonants. “Every time I catch you spacing out you’re grinning like you have a secret because you’re thinking about the next time you’re going to see him.”

Rey’s cheeks flushed at the truth. She had to stop being so obvious. She cleared her throat against the butterflies she felt just admitting this out loud.

“Sorry,” Rey apologized. “I guess I’m kind of distracted.”

Phasma scoffed. “Please, don’t be sorry on my account. Is it someone I know?”

Rey stopped in her tracks and it took Phasma three strides before she noticed Rey was no longer at her side. Phasma backtracked and pulled her to a park bench in the shade of a small ginko tree.

Rey moved her sunglasses to the top of her head and glanced around furtively before answering.

“It’s someone you know.”

Phasma’s eyes widened with delight. “It’s Finn, isn’t it! I _knew_ it! You two are disgustingly adorable, I hope you know that!”

“It’s--” Rey broke off when she realized what her friend had said. “What? No, I told you, we’re just friends, it’s--”

“Ben?!”

Phasma’s realization overlapped with Rey saying his name out loud.

To Rey’s horror, Phasma’s needling grin slid slowly to a slack-jawed expression that did not look anything like pleased. Phasma turned away from her and faced forwards in shock, removing her own sunglasses now and holding them folded in her long hand.

“Phas?” Rey said gently. “What?”

Her heart sank as her friend just shook her head.

“I think I would’ve been less shocked if you’d told me it was a woman,” Phas finally said. “How long?”

“Just… since the funeral. About a week.”

Phasma considered this and brightened for a second. “Well, that’s at least four days longer than he’s ever stayed interested in anyone else,” she said with a dry laugh.

Rey rolled her bottom lip between her teeth at this remark. They hadn’t discussed what they were. So why did the possibility of his going off her now fill her with a cold feeling?

“It’s something….” Rey trailed off, struggling to find words to explain herself. “I didn’t plan it. There’s just always been something there, between us.”

Phasma nodded and crossed her arms. She began to look steely now, a look of grim determination replacing her initial shock.

“Armitage was afraid of this,” Phasma admitted slowly.

Rey's stomach felt pinched now as she wondered if her boss knew about them. Knowing how close the men were, it seemed likely, but Hux had been too busy to say anything directly and he hadn’t acted differently towards her, at least that Rey could discern.

“He's your friend, though--right?” Rey didn't know what she'd expected to gain by telling Phasma, but this sick feeling certainly wasn't it.

“He is…” Phasma trailed off, and the note of uncertainty was easy to detect. “I don't want to see you hurt, Rey. That's all. But Ben’s… difficult.”

The two women sat in silence for what felt like eternity, just watching the passersby. A large group of school children trudged after a tour guide holding a red polka dot umbrella, their chaperones even farther back and clearly not listening to the guide’s monotone delivery about the monuments. A pair of young lovers passed in the opposite direction holding hands and stopping every so often to canoodle, awkwardly taking pictures of themselves with a small camera.

Rey spoke first.

“It started when we were at the beach,” she admitted. “Ben started it. Although... I kind of guessed he had feelings for me before that.”

Phasma’s head cocked and her eyebrow lifted at this. “How so?”

Rey shrugged, looking at her hands. “Did your parents ever tell you boys only tease you because they like you?”

Phasma gave a great, braying laugh at this. “Yes, of course! Imagine being in seventh grade and already being five foot ten when your classmates are still four foot tall. I got teased constantly.”

A flush came over Rey as she recalled the teasing she had endured from Ben. Her book, his constant remarks about Catholics, her youth, her freckles, her ability as a writer.

If this was the yardstick, he’d had feelings for her since the moment they’d met.

“Well, that,” Rey confirmed, “And he kissed me when I confronted him about something he’d taken from me.”

Phasma turned back now and bit the corner of her lower lip like she was reading a juicy pulp novel from the newsstand.

“When did _that_ happen? We were occupied nearly every second!”

“It was--I mean, I went to his--on the Fourth. That night.” Rey’s statement was nearly incoherent, but saying it out loud to someone felt so, so good.

“And… he kissed you? How was it?”

Rey shrugged and shook her head, grasping for a description. Why this felt so hard to define when her trade was in words, she didn’t know.

“Brief. It was brief.”

Phasma’s slow, needling grin returned. “Brief? Rey, it’s a good thing you’re a journalist and not a romance writer. What kind of a word is ‘brief’ for a kiss?!”

“Oh my God!” Rey cried in exasperation. “It was brief, I don’t know what else to say!? We stopped before it could go any further!”

“Would you have? If you hadn’t stopped?”

Rey considered. She thought again of the roller coaster: the delicious dread of anticipation, building in their middles as they inched forwards to the temporary metal barriers, listening to the screams of the victims who’d gone ahead of them to their certain death. The second time through the line had been completely different. They floated through, laughing and joking, poking fun at the other kids who were just one step behind them.

Looking back at the past few months felt just like that; she realized now that the thing she’d been so afraid of was something she’d wanted all along.

“I would have,” Rey confessed with her eyes closed. 

* * *

 

The day of the first debate dawned unbearably hot, and Rey’s first thought as she lay still with her eyes closed was if it would be good or bad for television viewership. She recalled Holdo’s axiom about America not being ready for politics until at least September. Did this debate even matter? Would anyone even remember it come November?

Her second thought was to roll over and press herself to Ben’s long, bare back.

His breathing changed but he did not stir until she tiptoed her fingers over the ridgeline of his side and skirted them beneath the edge of the sheet to trace a line from his navel down the plane of his lower stomach, then dragged her nails lightly back up.

His hand clamped over hers through the sheet, stilling it momentarily, before he moved it back down.

Rey grinned.

He had asked her to stay the night before, the first time since the funeral. Always before she had retreated to her own place.

Rey made as if to go, trying to rise and draw her clothes on, but when she saw the look in his eyes as he watched her, she stopped what she was doing and let him craddle her to sleep in his bed. He had looked very, very young and somehow smaller than her. Phasma’s remark echoed in her mind but if Ben was tiring of her, he didn’t show it.

It surprised her to be the aggressor between the two of them, that Ben was back on his heels in the face of her desire. His manhood twitched and swelled beneath her palm, filled the circle of her thumb and forefingers under they no longer touched and he began to roll his hips to meet her steady pressure.

Heat pooled between her legs and she scissored her thighs, bumping her knees gently against the backs of his.

His hand tightened over hers and he picked up the pace.

Rey kissed a freckle on his shoulder blade before she murmured, “Turn over, Ben.”

To her surprise, he turned over, flipped her on her back and straddled her thighs before she could react. She tried to buck her hips but his weight held her tight to the bed. Her breath caught when she saw his expression and her eyes fell closed when he captured her wrists above her head and pressed them into the pillow in one of his giant hands.

“Naughty girl,” he rasped against the side of her face. His whiskers scratched at her and she arched off the bed, her body a taut bow between the two points of contact. His knuckles brushed her stomach where he grasped his manhood, working himself faster than she had wanted to.

Rey huffed with impatience and pouted up at him. She could feel the slippery wetness leaking from her and beginning to cause a wet spot, but they had run out of condoms the night before and it had been too late to do anything about it. She would never have anticipated it, but she was getting sore from the number of times they’d coupled in the past several days so this forced variety was not unwelcome.

Ben bent close over her body and his breathing stuttered a moment before his hand stilled, then Rey felt the hot spurt of his seed hit her lower belly. She was breathing hard as well, partly out of triumph that she could arouse him this way and partly of her own unsatisfied need. They didn’t move for nearly a minute before his grip loosened on her hands and she was able to slide them around to ruffle the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Is it my turn?” She whispered this playfully. He had never left her unsatisfied yet, and she hoped this morning would not be an exception. They were due for a meeting at the office by eight and the clock was edging towards six-fifty already.

Ben raised his head and gave her a lazy grin.

“After I get you cleaned up,” he replied. He pushed away from her and returned with a washcloth to mop her stomach of his spend. He balled it up and tossed it on the floor at the foot of the bed before taking up residence across it at her feet.

“Show me what you do.”

Rey giggled. “What do you mean?”

Ben rolled his eyes at her but his smile crumpled his face.

Rey scooted down the bed towards him and he caught his thumb between her knees. They wrestled for a moment before she let him spread her thighs. Her heart pounded when she saw how his gaze flicked down between her legs.

“Show me,” he commanded again, propping his head up on one hand. “I wanna watch.”

Rey flopped back with a sigh, wetting her fingers in her mouth. She supposed if he had finished himself, she could do the same. Her eyes closed and she tried not to think about him lying between her legs as she reached between them and began rubbing with a practiced motion.

The bed shifted under her as he moved closer and Rey let out a gasp as she felt his fingers brush her entrance, very gentle and deliberate. Her fingers paused while she wondered if he would take over but he only whispered, “Keep going.”

Rey kept going, climbing closer to her own peak but aching now to feel him inside her. She clenched and rolled to her side, trying to squeeze her knees together in an attempt to feel the fullness she sought, but Ben’s hand pressed her hips back open.

“You’re alright,” he soothed her. “You can do it.”

“Can’t,” Rey whimpered. “Need you to--”     

His thumb brushed her again and her hips bucked involuntarily.

“Yes, like that!” Rey panted now. “Please?”

There was a wet sound and a moment later, his fingers filled her suddenly. Rey writhed and shattered, continuing to stroke the slick nub hidden in her folds even as it softened and grew numb to her touch. His fingers moved insistently inside her, curling deep where she could never reach herself. To her surprise, another climax layered itself over her first a moment later and she clasped her hand over her mouth to stifle the cry that issued from her. It felt like it came from someone else’s body, a temporary possession that seized her limbs and choked her breathing.

Rey lay limp for several minutes afterwards, even after Ben crawled back up alongside her and folded her into him. She was dimly aware that he was nuzzling her ear and murmuring to her, silly affectionate names that gave her a pang in her middle when she realized what he was saying.

No lover had ever spoken to her like this, and she certainly never expected it from this sheep in wolf’s clothing.

Her heart stuttered at how good it felt.

* * *

 

Rey was fixing her hair in the mirror when she asked him the question that had been nagging her. Two bobby pins stuck out from her lips and she glanced at him in the mirror, clad only in a towel with toothpaste dotting his lips.

“Ben,” she managed around the pins. “Did you tell Hux about… this?”

She almost said _us_ , _did you tell him about us_ , but she didn’t want to presume such a thing.

Ben’s toothbrush stopped moving and he looked at her. He reached forward first and wiped a clean spot in the condensation of the mirror with his palm so that she could continue fixing her hair before answering. It was steamy in the small bathroom with the two of them vying for space along the vanity, but Rey liked the cramped domesticity of it.

“What makes you think I would I would do that?” His answer was garbled around the toothbrush and a tiny fleck of foam flew onto her blouse as he spit. “Did you tell someone?”

Rey drew one of the pins from her lips and tucked in a wisp of hair before answering.

“Phas figured it out,” she answered honestly. “She said Hux was afraid it would happen with us working together.”

Ben merely rolled his eyes in response.

“Did you?” Her pins were finally all in her hair and she patted the bun she had made.

“No,” Ben said curtly. “Not about this.”

Ben’s default scowl returned and for a moment, Rey wondered if she had made a grave error in telling Phasma, or in asking him about this.

“Actually, we made a bet.” The truth tumbled out of him as he lathered his throat to begin shaving.

“A bet?” Rey echoed. “What do you mean?”

Ben paused to flick the water from his razor and leaning over the basin of the sink. He drew the blade up his neck with confident, practiced strokes.

“About whether you’d stay on with the campaign,” Ben answered.

Rey sank onto the lid of the toilet and looked up at him. Hearing this gave her a curious feeling.

Ben glanced at her then resumed shaving the other side of his neck.

“What was the bet?” Rey’s curiosity got the better of her.

“Whether you’d make it to the convention or not,” Ben replied. “Hux said no, I said yes.”

“So you won,” Rey finished.

“Of course I did.” Ben's tone was smug.

Rey narrowed her eyes at his profile, then looked at her hands. “Why did you pick me? I thought you didn’t want to hire me.”

Ben rinsed his razor again and shook it off before answering.

“When I was off of school and my dad and I would go to the city,” Ben went on, “He liked to go to Aqueduct--watch the horses run, you know? He could always pick a winner. He’d give me a nickel and tell me to place a bet, and I’d pour over the racing form but I always lost. Every fucking time,” Ben chuckled sardonically at the memory.

“So one trip, I finally quit looking at the form and watched him instead. He would go to the paddock, look at the horses while they saddled up, talk to the grooms, shoot the shit with the track workers. You know my dad,” Ben rolled his eyes. “He can talk to anyone.”

Rey nodded and wiped the beaded sweat from her upper lip. She hoped the governor was recovering from the funeral.

“He said you don’t pick the biggest nag, or the one with the fanciest trainer, or the one that’s fighting everyone in the paddock. You pick the one that looks like it knows it’s a winner.”

“That sounds like horseshit,” Rey said bluntly.

“It does,” Ben readily admitted it. “But he was right. A winner has a look.”

“So I’m your prize pony?” Rey’s lips curled with her sarcasm. Was he seriously comparing her to a Thoroughbred?

Ben wet a washcloth and wiped away the remaining shaving cream. He tossed it in the sink before crossing his arms and leaning his hip against the countertop.

“Why did you come work for me?” He raised his eyebrows with this challenge.

“Because,” Rey blurted out. “I didn’t want to let you win!”

“Exactly,” Ben smiled. “Because I picked a winner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Fourth of July to American readers, and a belated Happy Canada Day to any neighbors to the north!


	16. The Descendant

When Senator Benjamin K. Solo looked back at August 14, 1964, he wanted to remember a good day.

A long day, for sure, but a good one. A day that would be good training for what undoubtedly lay ahead of him: a presidency full of long, hard but fulfilling days.

With the first debate in the books and resoundingly in his favor, his mood was light as he showered and shaved the morning of the fourteenth of August, buoyant as he strolled his normal path to his office ahead of work, self-satisfied as he stopped in the corner cafe to grab a coffee and chat with the cashier.

It remained that way, a pleasantly jumbled fog of self-congratulation and optimism, until he was two blocks from the office.

As he waited to cross the street, he noted how many people were clustered around the corner newsstand across from him. In and of itself, that was nothing unusual; people frequently stopped to chat while they gathered the morning editions for their offices. It was as reliable a source of non-press information as the water cooler, a stop along the way to being fully informed of the goings-on at any time of day in this town. From sun-up ‘til sun-down, aides and attorneys alike trafficked the newsstands for gossip.

He was halfway across the road when the crowd suddenly began to disperse, some of them looking over their shoulders at him as they scurried away.

Ben’s jubilant mood dimmed a few notches at the sight. What, they couldn’t speak to him now? He’d been on television once and people he talked to nearly every day couldn’t say good morning?

The stand was vacant aside from its proprietor by the time he reached it, and the man behind the counter didn’t meet Ben’s eyes when he stepped up to grab the usuals.

“Hey, Tony.” Ben tried his normal greeting. “Did Maz come by yet?”

“Senator,” Tony replied, gathering up the _Post_ , the _Times_ , and the couple West Coast papers the stand carried. He still didn't meet Ben’s eyes or answer his question. Tony was about the same age as he, the son of Italian immigrants who’d come to the States after the war with nothing, settled in Baltimore, and built up a small franchise of newsstands that their son now ran. If Ben was being honest, it was the kind of immigrant story he wished his family had.

“I guess she didn’t,” Ben muttered, creasing the papers in half to stow them under his arm. “How much do I owe you?”

He asked as though it hadn’t been seventy-five cents for the last year. It was so regular they budgeted for it at the office.

“The usual,” Tony confirmed. “Unless you want to add this one?”

Ben looked up from counting the change in his hand to see what Tony was offering. It was one of the Chicago papers, and Tony’s index finger pointed to a small headline below the fold, one a reader might not notice right away. The kind of headline you got to after your second cup of coffee, after you’d taken the dog outside or dropped your kids at the bus stop.

Not an important headline, not the one that screamed the news at you from the top of the page, just below the masthead.

Ben’s hand froze as he grasped the fourth of five pennies for Tony.

_Sen. Solo’s Ties to Third Reich_

It was a statement, not a question. And it wasn’t in a muckraking, backwater city’s paper.

It stood there in black and white on the front page of a reputable paper from the second city of the country.

“Well?” Tony asked, and Ben wasn’t sure if the man meant, _do you want it_ , or _is it true_.

“I--I--” Ben stammered.

Tony’s bushy eyebrows shot up expectantly.

“Yes,” Ben finally managed.

“Then it’ll be ninety-five today.” Tony was brusque, holding out his hand for the coins and slapping the paper down in front of Ben.

“Thanks,” Ben gritted out.

 The men exchanged payment and Ben walked as fast as he could without running to the safety of his office.

* * *

Ben phoned his campaign headquarters the second he sat down behind his desk. The paper was splayed open before him and he continued reading as it rang. As late as they’d been out the previous night, he knew someone had to be there. The clock on his wall edged towards ten.

His eyes flew over the words, backtracking a few times to reread certain passages in disbelief.

“Solo-Mulavey office,” Mitaka’s voice finally came over the line.

“Dopheld,” Ben exhaled in relief. “Is Rey there?”

“She’s out gathering papers,” Mitaka replied. “We saw it already--it’s not just the _Sun-Times_ , either. Other places have picked it up.”

“ _Shit_.” Ben whispered the vulgarity. The triumphant sense of peace he’d awoken to had vanished and was replaced by a nervous clenching of his lower midsection.

“Do you want to…. talk to Hux?” Mitaka sounded small and less confident than usual.  

Ben didn’t know what he wanted. His mind went everywhere at once--his father, reading the paper at the beach with Tony looking over his shoulder. Rey, scurrying from stand to stand collecting papers for the interns to pour over and analyze. The questioning look Maz had given him when he entered the office ten minutes ago.

“Sure,” Ben answered after a pause.

There was a bit of static on the line as Mitaka put down the receiver and Ben heard murmuring. He kept reading while he waited for Hux.

“We were going to call you as soon as you were in,” Hux came on the line. “Which one did you see?”

“The  _Sun-Times_. The guy at the newsstand on the corner pointed it out.”

“Their timing is impeccable, I have to give them that,” Hux grudgingly praised the papers. “The debate coverage plus this paints a very confusing picture of your campaign.”

Ben raised his hand to his forehead and rubbed wearily. The time left until the election in November felt like a Sisyphean hill.

“How're the debate pieces?”

“Glowing,” Hux sounded soothed for a moment. “Overwhelmingly in your favor, you’re the future of the country, it’s time for change-- our message landed well.”

This spot of good news did nothing to stop the twisting Ben felt in his gut.

“Rey?”

“She’s…” Hux trailed off. “Upset. Understandably so.”

Ben rarely second-guessed himself, but he suddenly had the oddest sense of deja vu, looking around his office and thinking back over the past several months. What if he hadn’t detained her in March? Perhaps he should’ve just let her print what she wanted to about his family. By now it would likely have been forgotten. Perhaps this was on him.

A tiny, miserable part of him wanted to turn on her now, lash out at her for not striking first in this calculated game of perception, for not being up to the task he had all but forced her into, but his rational self kept him from following that train of thought to its end. They were a team, and it would not do to be divided amongst themselves.

“Do you want to come ov--” Hux broke off and Ben now heard booming male voices in the background.

“Come over,” Hux changed what he was saying. “Mulavey’s people just got here.”

“Fuck!” Ben swore. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

* * *

The campaign office hummed with a nervous energy. William’s face was roughly the color of a cooked beet by the time Ben arrived and Finn’s was set into a hard expression that Ben couldn’t read.

“Senator!” William’s greeting sounded like the bark of a junkyard dog, the guttural rattle of a long-time smoker.

“Bill,” Ben said evenly. He wasn’t in the mood for his running mate’s campaign manager’s bluster and forced himself to take a deep breath.

Rey stood from her crouch behind several interns seated at the conference table. Their eyes met over the younger people’s heads and she said simply, “I don’t understand… it’s not September yet.”

“What on God’s goddamn green earth does the month have to do with libel?!” William’s voice cracked on the vowel of the accusation. “These papers think they can just print whatever they want to sell copy?! Well, I tell you what, they’re not gonna know what--”

“It’s not libel,” Ben interrupted William’s diatribe.

“--hit them, they’re gonna be sorry they ever put ink on reels!” William kept speaking, turning in tight circles with his meaty fists clenched in anticipation of the fight. “We’ll sue them back to the Stone Age if we have to!”

“What did you say?” Finn’s voice cut through the din.

The interns stopped scribbling and clipping. They turned in their chairs and stared at Ben. He glanced at them before looking at Finn directly before answering.

“I said, it’s not libel.”

William stopped ranting and stared at him now as well.

Hux emerged from his office looking grim and took in the scene with his hands braced on his narrow hips.

Finn’s lips were set in a line and he shook his head slowly.

“Finn,” Rey rounded the table and held up her hands at Finn as though trying to gentle a spooked horse. “Really, it’s not what you think.”

Finn narrowed his eyes as his features crumpled in disappointment. Ben felt a distinct pang to see how visibly let down the younger man was.

“You knew?!”

Rey’s features fell too as Finn slowly comprehended what she was saying. Rey glanced between Ben and Finn and Ben saw the look of disgust return to her friend’s eyes.

“Just--don’t. Don’t. I’m going for a walk.”

With that, Finn turned on his heel and strode out the door, slamming it so hard behind him that the glass rattled in the pane.

“Alright, interns-- take the morning off,” Hux shooed them. “Grown-ups need to do things.

“Out,” he barked when they were slow to rise from the table.

William’s forehead now showed a vein that looked ready to pop, but he held his tongue until the door clicked closed behind the last of the interns.

“Let’s sit down,” Hux gestured at the table.

Rey was nearest but she waited for Ben to move towards it before pointedly taking a seat opposite him. Hux took up residence at the head of the table and Mitaka perched on a chair next to Rey. Mitaka daintily brushed the newspapers towards one another until Rey scowled in his direction with a brief shake of her head. He looked sheepish but stilled.

Only William remained standing and he seemed rooted to his spot. Ben and Hux exchanged glances.

“Bill,” Ben tried. “Will you have a seat with us?”

“What…” William started in, his single word a question that never formed. His fleshy mouth worked a bit before he managed, “What the hell does ‘it’s not libel’ exactly mean to you, Senator? I hope to Jesus in heaven you’re splitting hairs over legalese and not what I think you’re saying.”

The group remained silent and waited for Ben to answer. He was thinking of how to phrase the information when Rey’s voice interrupted his thoughts.

“It’s a risk we’ve been aware of.”

She twisted in her seat to meet William’s eyes where the man stood behind her and Ben felt the tiniest swell of pride that she didn’t flinch in the face of the onslaught that followed.

“A risk?! Young lady, I think you and I might have a different definition of that word! A _risk_ is having starry-eyed girls working in this office where they have no business. A _risk_ is having a staff so young they don’t know to how to run a camp--”

“We’ve taken calculated measures to contain the story before now,” Hux jumped obliquely to Rey’s defense. “We always knew it was a possibility a different source might pick it up.”

“Measures?! What measures?” William spluttered. “If you’d taken measures we wouldn’t be sitting here with our dicks in our hands!”

Ben’s hackles were finally well and truly raised at this accusation.

“You know you have no business criticizing the way this campaign has been run prior to joining it! We took an opportunity months ago to contain this information and so far, it’s been successful. Do you have some brilliant idea when the ideal time for this news would’ve been?”

William stared at him open-mouthed. After a tense moment he spat, “Does Bob know about this? Or am I the only one who didn’t know you’re related to a _fucking Nazi_?!?”

Ben folded his fingers together and did his level best to imitate his mother’s infuriating calm in the face of calamity. She may have been small, barely reaching his chest once he’d grown to his full height, but in a fight she dwarfed him with her cool, almost sarcastic sense of authority. Ben sighed audibly before continuing, a trademark Leia move that always made him feel like he was two steps behind her and struggling to catch up.

“No, Bob was not privy to this information. It was on the docket to be discussed with him as soon as possible, but we’ve been a little busy.”

“He’s on his way over,” Mitaka offered, as if more confusion was exactly what they needed at the moment.

William finally dragged a chair out, the legs making a ragged scraping sound on the floor. Rey winced at the noise but did not look as William took up a seat beside her.

Ben could see something fomenting on the older man’s face. He had at last closed his mouth and a strange calm had overtaken him. William adjusted his tie, smoothing his hand down the printed silk before leaning forwards with one fist braced on his knee.

“You say you took steps to contain this story.”

Ben breathed a deep sigh of relief. Now they could get down to brass tacks, how to deal with this like sensible adults.

“Yes,” he confirmed. “We did, and--”

“And your people knew about this, and they contained it too.”

Hux’s mouth twitched at this oversimplification but he said nothing.

“Right,” Ben scowled now, realizing William was building to something.

“Senator,” William deadpanned him. “I see two possibilities here. Either someone in this office leaked this story to the press, or you’re some kinda goddamn Manchurian candidate.”

The words hung in the air between them for several seconds before Ben felt like he really heard what William was saying.

“Bill!” Hux hissed. “Our staff are loyal, and Ben’s not a Nazi--that’s… that’s ridiculous!”

“I’ve never even met my grandfather,” Ben added helplessly. “My mother immigrated here before I was born!”

“Fine,” William feigned acceptance of this. “Then how about you explain why the little lady here makes double her old salary at the _Times_?”

Rey’s mouth went into a thin line and she glanced up at Ben now. He was slightly surprised William had found time to review the campaign budget with the recent chaos.

“We liked Rey’s work,” Hux said simply. “We knew she wouldn’t leave a position that good for less.”

“Don’t lie to me!” William’s fist punctuated his statement as it slammed to the tabletop. “That was your precious strategy, wasn’t it--you paid her hush money to keep this information quiet!”

“It was a good opportunity,” Rey countered, her voice oddly high-pitched. “You would’ve have done the same.”

William shook his head vigorously. “See, no--no, that’s the difference between us; I’m not a common whore who’ll be a mouthpiece for the highest bidder!”

“Enough!” Ben shouted and rose, unconsciously trying to gain the higher ground. “Bill, that’s exactly what you are! You’ve worked in Washington as a hired gun your entire career!”

William looked flabbergasted at Ben’s outburst but didn’t back down. A lifetime of working in the Beltway had taught him that much.

“Fine, prove I’m wrong! How else can I interpret this situation? How do you know Erlandsson’s people didn’t offer her another _good opportunity_?” He parroted Rey’s phrase back with a nasty twist of his lips.

Ben was about to retort when the door to the office opened and Mulavey stepped in. He hadn’t seen his running mate since the previous morning and the intervening night had appeared to take its toll on the older gentleman.

“Bob, it’s about time,” William greeted his boss. “We’ve got a fine mess on our hands here.”

Mulavey looked grim and merely nodded.

“Bob,” Ben said curtly. “We were just discussing Bill’s theories about this situation. Bill, would you like to fill Bob in? I don’t want to get the details wrong.” It was difficult to keep the sarcasm from his voice. Ben shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and rocked back on his heels.

“Well, the fact of the matter is, you’ve got a journalist who values personal advancement over public good working for your campaign,” William bleated. “Rey here took double her salary to come over from the best paper in town, and I’m willing to bet she’d take more if the opposition offered it to her!” 

“I’m not a traitor!” Rey shrieked at this characterization, one that Ben knew she worried would stain her integrity for the rest of her career.  “How dare you accuse me--you don’t even know me!” 

“Look,” Ben interrupted, trying to control the situation. “Yelling at each other isn’t going to solve anything. Accusing Rey of leaking information that would only damage us is just as absurd as you implying I’m some German sleeper agent!”

When Mulavey finally spoke up, he sounded weary. His tone was soft but steady.

“Senator, you already know my feelings on this topic.” His eyes flicked to Rey briefly before he continued. “That we should’ve replaced some of your staff weeks ago with more experienced people. When you got the nomination.”

Ben stayed silent, waiting for his running mate to continue. The naked look of hurt that crossed Rey’s face at this news crushed him.  

“The way I see it, we need to do something, and now. We don’t have time to sit here arguing over who knew what when, and why. Either you fix this, or I’m leaving the campaign to protect my own reputation. And that’s just business.”

Hux stood now and joined him with his arms crossed.

“So you’re giving us an ultimatum?” Hux sounded disgusted. “You or Rey?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. Bill, let’s go get coffee, and you all can call me with your decision by noon.”

William looked between Ben and Hux and stood with a satisfied nod, a guard dog called off by its master. He doffed his hat from the rack by the door but couldn’t resist turning back to say, “We know you’ll do the right thing, Senator.”

“What a blow-hard,” Hux muttered as the door rattled in its frame behind the men. “He won’t do that! Mulavey leaving the campaign is just as bad politically as staying on it, no matter what the public chooses to believe about you and Anakin! He’s bluffing, we’ll sort something out.”

Ben felt hollow all of a sudden as the realization of what this meant sank in.  

“But if Mulavey leaves,” Mitaka’s voice wavered. “You’ll never get a replacement, not with this on the record. Who would volunteer for that? To campaign only to… to…”

“Lose.”

It was Rey who spoke the word that was hovering above them.

She reached forwards and brushed the papers into the same pile she’d shooed Mitaka from only minutes earlier, looking very small. The clock ticking above them punctuated the shuffling sound coming from the newsprint across the wood.

It was ten-fifty.

“I didn’t do this,” Rey said without looking up. Her words were nearly lost in the sound of her useless tidying. “Whoever did has a funny sense of timing, though.”

“I’ll say,” Hux snorted. “Rey, we know it wasn’t you, that’s horseshit.”

His friend looked at him for affirmation but Ben tucked his chin to his chest and rolled his neck. A knot had developed at the base of his skull weeks ago and it nagged him, a throbbing annoyance on the right side.

“Ben?” Hux asked expectantly.

“Leave us,” he replied.

Rey’s hand stilled above the newspapers and she looked up at him, open-mouthed.

“What--” Hux broke off. “Are you kidding?”

Rey sank back into her chair and was very still aside from her eyes flicking between them.

“Okay!” Mitaka took the cue without hesitation, awkwardly patting Rey’s shoulder as he slunk towards the exit. “Um, see you later?”

His oldest friend gave him a hard look before turning on his heel and following Mitaka to the door. He turned back at the last second and spat, “Forget about coming over this evening, Ben!”

Ben sank back into his chair and rested his head against his hands steepled in front of him. His thoughts swam with possibilities but they all dead-ended in him losing the election. Everything he’d worked for, that Hux and Finn and Mitaka and Rey, _Rey_ had sacrificed and worked so hard for, would be for naught. What was the good of that? He wasn’t running for personal glory. He was running to shape this country, the only one he’d ever known and loved.

In the end, there were two choices: one each of them could make but neither wanted to make the first move.   

“Rey,” Ben couldn’t look at her. “Don’t make me do this.”

Her silence was her only answer.

“Are you asking me to fire you?!” Ben finally lifted his head and looked at her. She sat stock still in front of him, her posture ramrod straight and her chin tilted defiantly up. It struck him with a pang how confident she looked now, how unlike that first day they’d met in his office.

 _Please don’t say it_ , he thought. _Please_.

Rey’s lips pressed into a line and still she didn’t respond. He rose and rounded the table to stand beside her. His shoulders hunched in as he crossed his arms and studied her profile. He recalled his grandmother Ami fussing at him as a teenager to _stand up straight_ , to _be proud_ of who he was.

Proud was about the last feeling he would assign to this day.

Would this moment be any easier, he wondered, if she had not shared his bed? If they were nothing but colleagues and not also lovers? He had never felt so torn over making a decision during his entire tenure in the Senate, and it was hardly the first unpleasant, zero-sum game choice he’d faced.

“I won’t quit,” Rey whispered, and he could hear that she was on the verge of tears. “You know it’s not right.”

Ben hung his head at her answer and held a great lungful of air until his chest began to burn.

“It’s not right,” he agreed. “But you still have to go.”

Rey stood abruptly, grabbed her handbag and went to the door without a word. She lingered for a moment with her hand on the knob, and when he met her eyes, she closed it between them with the slightest shake of her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for the long break between chapters! 
> 
> Come say hi on Tumblr - I'm @theafterglow-writes.


	17. September

Rey slogged down the street she’d walked many times before, dodged trash cans and stray cats, nodded to families seated on their stoops out of politeness more than friendliness. She felt anything but friendly as she hitched her duffle bag higher on her shoulder and mounted the stairs for the four-story climb to the top.

The door opened a crack before closing and Rey heard the chain rattling as her friend disengaged it.

“Babe,” Midge greeted her with a cigarette pursed between her lips and her thin arms spread open. “You are a sight for sore eyes!”

Rey fell forward against her friend in a weary heap. The two women embraced as though it had been much longer than five months since they’d last seen one another.

“It’s good to see you,” she returned the greeting. “Thanks again for letting me crash here.”

“Don’t worry,” Midge waved away the cloud of smoke that followed her. “Annette and her guy will be out of your place soon enough and you’ll have your space. But for now--” She gestured grandly towards the tiny sitting area she’d rigged up in the corner of the efficiency. “My couch is your couch.”

“Thanks.”

Rey let her bag fall to the floor with a soft thump. Midge’s couch was more of a chaise, a derelict old thing with chartreuse crushed velvet upholstery. Rey knew better than to ask its provenance.

The two weeks following the fourteenth of August had been a carousel of couches at friends’ places: first Hux and Phas’s, then Finn’s once he’d calmed down enough to forgive her and hear her side of the story. But the forced proximity with people still close to Ben, however much on her side they professed to be, proved tiresome in short order. She could feel how she kept them from discussing work while at home, and while Rey loathed calling Midge to ask for her place back sooner than expected, returning to New York had seemed the only option.

“So….” Midge curled her tiny frame into the armchair. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Rey shook her head. “It’s been a long ride. Do you mind if I change?”

Midge deflated visibly with disappointment, obviously eager for the gossip.

“Of course not. You know where the bathroom is.”

Rey perched on the edge of the tub to rummage through her bag for her pajamas but stilled when he caught sight of herself in the full-length mirror on the back of the door.

She looked a mess: hair escaping from her ponytail, dark circles under her eyes, a scrape on her shin from a box as she’d hastily packed her Washington place. Her outfit barely matched and the shirt she’d thrown on hadn’t been washed since before the debate. There simply hadn’t been time. It amazed her how life passed without a job: both quickly and slowly, the days segueing into one another without definition. She had all the time in the world now and yet couldn’t find a moment to do the simplest tasks like laundry. It wasn’t logical, but Rey didn’t feel like being in public, not even at the laundromat. No one knew who she was, or what she looked like, but she felt exposed in Washington.

Rey tore her eyes from the reflection and pulled out her nightgown. It lay close to the top of the bag, and beneath it, her book.

_The Group_.

Well, she supposed, she had plenty of time to finish it now. She’d barely touched it since getting it back.

Rey stood with a huff and set to changing. If she kept moving, she couldn’t let herself think about that.

Back in the main room, Midge made up her Murphy bed. Rey scooted around the foot to the chaise and began arranging the sheets and blankets as best she could on the awkward piece of furniture.

“So….” Midge began without looking at Rey. “I don’t know if you’re thinking about work, but we’ve got some freelance copy stuff you could do at the _Daily_ \--if you want. I know fashion’s not really your thing, though.”

Rey merely nodded. She had enough money saved it wasn’t an immediate concern, but she knew she could not remain in the city without income for long.

“Or you could call the _Times_ , I guess?” Midge forged on. “They might want you back?”

“Thanks,” Rey said. “I haven’t decided yet. One thing at time, you know?”

“Right,” Midge agreed, but Rey could tell something was nagging her friend.

“What?”

Midge stood to her full height, stretching her scrawny frame and shaking her head. She seemed slightly embarrassed.

“Is it true?”

Rey fluffed a pillow and tossed it at the head of her makeshift bed.

“Is what true?”

“Any of it.”

Rey sank to the cushion of the chaise. The news was unavoidable and dogged her despite her attempts to avoid the fallout from the story breaking. What had started with a few papers had swelled to a tidal wave of front-page coverage from all sides, from the reputable to the rags. She couldn’t even go to the corner store without the news being screamed at her from the likes of the _National Enquirer_.

“From a certain point of view, yes.”   

Midge whistled and sly smile crinkled the corners of her eyes. Rey had always thought her very pretty, a handsome, proud sort of beauty despite her petite stature. While the other girls railed against the set hairdos of their mothers’ generation with long, unstyled locks, Midge bucked convention and wore her sleek hair in a perpetual bob after the fashion of Louise Brooks.

“Now that’s a politician’s answer if I ever heard one,” Midge said gently. “We need to get you out of the swamp and thinking like a journalist again.”

Rey reclined with a resigned shrug.

“It wasn’t all bad.”

Midge extinguished the overhead light and the bedsprings squeaked as she clambered into her bed. The two women were silent for a while, listening to the sounds of the city settling outside.  

“I started to--” Rey broke off, hesitant to admit her true feelings about the work. “To enjoy it. The challenge of it.”

Midge rolled over.

“Just the work?”

Her friend’s question was honest, and Rey doubted she meant anything by it, but _oh_ , how it caused her heart to swell to the point where it choked her breathing slightly and she felt her eyes grow hot with unshed tears. She had put this in a box and tried not to think of what had happened in those terms.

“And the people,” Rey admitted in a whisper. “I liked the people, too.”

 

* * *

If Rey felt different now, the city around her remained unchanged. While slightly emptier in advance of this Labor Day weekend, the unrelenting late-summer press of people and buildings still overwhelmed her senses. She loved and hated the city for its casual cruelty, the way people could be so close to one another and yet so distant.  

With Midge gone to work early the next morning, Rey found herself at loose ends but crushed by the endless possibilities. Her mind jumped from one activity to the next, alighting on each one only to flutter away to the next a moment later.

She lay in an uncomfortable heap on the chaise until nearly nine-fifteen, a solid three hours past her normal wake-up time in Washington. Despite her neck being sore from sleeping in an odd position, she kept shifting and refused to rise from her makeshift bed. Without work to drive her from it, she lingered and, for the first time in weeks, allowed herself to wallow in being well and truly alone.

She thought of calling Finn, but he would undoubtedly be at work. Same for Phasma, tidying things before the long weekend after which the students returned and the crush of the fall semester began. Her college friends were no doubt fully occupied with their own scholastic preparations and besides, Rey felt awkward calling them after all that had happened. She had allowed herself to be consumed by distance and work and she felt an unspoken wedge between them and her.

Rey retrieved her book from her bag and fluttered through the unread pages. Just then, a slip of paper fell out with a phone number written on it.

A. Holdo.

Rey sat up and stared at the number. It was a local exchange, not from the newsroom but presumably the woman’s own residence.

“Keep this.” Holdo had scribbled it at their meeting. “Just in case.”

In case of what, Rey hadn’t been sure of at the time. She hadn’t attended the cocktail party she’d been invited to at Holdo’s place. Rey stashed the number in the book once more and rose, determined to stop lollygagging and at least do something with her day.

Making it outside to the stoop in fresh clothes proved to be a monumental task. Rey shoved Midge’s extra key in her pocket and sank to the stones warming in the sun with a mug of coffee. She made a mental note to go to the corner store later and pick up another can of coffee grounds; Midge’s supply ran low, and it was the least Rey could figure to do.

It was also the only thing she could figure to do today. She remained on the steps long after sun had risen uncomfortably high in the sky, the garbage men had driven by to empty the cans on the block, and even late risers had ambled by with their babies in strollers and dogs leashed to the handlebars. Once the activity died down, Rey’s sense of worthlessness crept up in her again. She ducked back inside to gather her things and go out for the day.

Her subletter had promised to vacate Rey’s apartment by the weekend. In limbo, Rey gathered her handbag, her book, and a small sandwich of liverwurst and pickles wrapped in waxed paper and left for the nearby park. It was one of the few things she still ate that her father had loved. As a girl, she would sit with him at the table on weekends, mimicking his movements as he deliberately ate his favorite and she pretended to like the miniature version he made for her.

At first, she hadn’t liked it at all: the smokey smell, the consistency of the mysteriously fine-ground meat, the salty tang of the pickles on her tongue. As she’d grown older, she came to appreciate the white bread’s toasted surface in contrast with the soft gooiness of the wurst.

“We had a different name for this meat when I was your age,” he always told her.

Rey would nod solemnly and slide the pickles away from the meat to save them for last.

“Before the war.” He clarified even though she knew the reason he no longer called it _Braunschweiger_.

Seated on a park bench beneath a tree, Rey stared glumly at the sandwich now. Her parents hadn’t wanted her to study writing. It wasn’t that they disapproved, per se, just that they wanted her to have a practical trade, one that would serve her throughout her life. Writing was so close to secretarial work, they reasoned, why not just go to the nearby business college and learn shorthand? She would have a nice life, a comfortable existence with continual employment. When she married, she could still work and go back to that once her children were in school.

Rey chewed her bite very slowly, not daring to swallow against the lump that was forming in her throat. What her parents wanted mattered little now, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that they would be disappointed to see her in her present state. She was always welcome to come home, they assured her as they moved her into the dorm at the college they slightly disapproved of, if things didn’t work out.

Finally swallowing her bite with difficulty, Rey opened her book and retrieved the slip of paper once more. A telephone booth stood down the park path at the junction with the cross streets.

What could it hurt? Chances were good no one would answer right now, midday on a Friday before a holiday weekend. Surely the editor of the _Times_ had Labor Day plans. Rey imagined somewhere cooler by an ocean or a lake as she slotted the coin into the phone and held her breath while it began ringing. A place with lots of trees and cool, green lawns and those fancy wooden Adirondack chairs.

Rey’s heart skipped as the ringing was interrupted by a shuffling sound, then the musical voice of her former editor-in-chief came across the wires.

“Hello?” 

* * *

 

Rey heard the music from the party before she reached Holdo’s door. It was nearing ten in the evening, and the distinct hum of voices over the strains of jazz nearly made her lose her nerve.

“Come over!” Holdo had laughed her invitation, her tone light. “We’ll already be over fire code, what’s one more? We’d love to hear all about your adventures. Please, won’t you come?”

Rey had retreated to Midge’s for the afternoon and moped, half-reading and half-dozing, trying to decide whether to go. A party might do her spirits good, but she didn’t want to invite any questions about the campaign or her sudden departure from it.

“Go!” Midge shooed her from the space and looked exasperated as Rey had enumerated the reasons for not going. “Enjoy your youth for once.”

True to her word, Midge’s friend found other accommodations and Midge returned the key to her before Rey left for the night.

She reached the door and found a note taped to it.

_Shoes outside, you inside! - A & S_

A sizeable pile of sandals and summer shoes of every conceivable type lay just outside the door. Rey was loathe to go barefoot anywhere in the city, but she supposed someone’s private apartment was the place to do it.

Her knocks unanswered, she tried the knob and found it open.

When Rey imagined Holdo’s place based on the decor of her office at the paper, it was a sleek space filled with interesting books and modern-looking furniture. A quiet, reverential space where smart people congregated and discussed important things, the way Rey pictured the French Enlightenment salons of her history textbook.

The scene that met her eyes was quite the opposite: a crowded, narrow hallway with a bicycle parked in it lined with primitive masks and framed pictures covering nearly every bit of the walls, an Oriental runner rug with threadbare spots, and dim lighting issuing only from candles and a few lamps with colored scarves flung over their shades. The temperature was sweltering but Rey instantly felt the hominess of the place.

“Hello?” Rey’s greeting died instantly in the cacophony of laughter and music.

She pushed past several women clustered near the bicycle to peer into the kitchen, looking for Holdo.

“You new, kid?” One of the women spoke up behind her and Rey turned back.

“I’m looking for Amilyn,” she explained. “Have you seen her?”

The woman approached with a half-smile. She struck Rey as self-possessed, a sureness to her movements that signaled her place here.

“Who hasn’t?” She threw her head back and laughed heartily at Rey’s confused expression.

“I’m…” Rey grasped for words. “I worked for her at the Times.”

“Try the fire escape. I think she’s outside.”

Rey could see the escape through the window at the end of the hallway and on it, the legs of a willowy creature she assumed to be Holdo. She wound through the clusters of people in the living room to the open window and poked her head out.

A small group of people were gathered on the escape smoking and listening with rapt attention as Holdo held forth, a cigarette burning to a nub between her long fingers and an empty wine glass clutched in her other.

“...and I said to him, ‘Mr. President, I am shocked, I said shocked at your implication!’”

The crowd roared at Holdo’s punchline and Rey felt like she was interrupting until Holdo noticed her and exclaimed, “Rey! You finally made it! Everybody, this is Rey!”

“Hey Rey!” The revelers answered in unison as she waved shyly to them.

“Miss Rey, you must come meet Sam,” Holdo clambered back in the window. “Anyway, my drink is empty, this simply won’t do! Did you just get here? Poor thing, you need a drink! This heat, I swear!”

Rey followed Holdo back to the kitchen, unable to get a word in edgewise.

“Sam! Sam, dear--get Rey a drink, will you?”

A woman turned from slicing lemons on the tiny strip of countertop and looked Rey up and down before answering. Holdo squeezed beside this Sam and slid her arm around the woman’s waist.  

“Who’re you?”

“Rey, this is Samantha, my…” Amilyn turned to the woman with a drunken smile and didn’t finish her thought before leaning over to plant a sloppy kiss on her partner’s cheek.

“Sam Edelstein. It’s a pleasure.” The women thrust out her free hand and pumped Rey’s, her grip firm but slippery with citrus juice.  “Glad you could make it.”

Rey smiled shyly and replied, “Thank you for having me. And… a Scotch if you have it. Neat.”

“Scotch!” Sam brayed. “I like this girl already. Lemme guess -- you’re a writer?”

Rey hesitated. She didn’t know what to call herself anymore, besides unemployed. Amilyn came to her rescue before she had to say anything.

“Dear, you remember, right? Rey is our writer who went to work for Senator Solo’s campaign.”

Rey swallowed as several of the other partygoers hushed at this announcement and turned to stare at her. The music suddenly seemed much louder without the din of voices over it.

“That’s me.” Rey gave a self-conscious wave of her hand and most of the crowd turned back to their private conversations.

Sam gave a low whistle and kept slicing lemons. “Tough break about that Nazi story,” she said. “That’s gonna be hard to recover from.”

“Bad timing,” Amilyn chimed in. “So what brings you back to the city, Rey?”

Rey couldn’t say it: _I got fired_.

“Just… holidays. Visiting friends.” She forced herself to smile as though it was perfectly natural.

“Good!” Amilyn retrieved a glass and sloppily poured her three fingers’ worth of Scotch. Rey noticed it was not as nice a brand as what the woman kept in her office.

Rey accepted the glass without comment and raised it in thanks before taking a sip. The amber liquid burned its way down her throat and into her stomach.

“Oh, Poe is here somewhere!” Holdo said this as though she just remembered. “I think I saw him in the library, or maybe he was in the hall--”

“I’ll take a look,” Rey interrupted. “Thanks for the drink.”

She lingered in the hallway under the pretense of examining the pictures, nursing her Scotch. The heat and the booze were making her feel woozy on an empty stomach, as did the thought of seeing Dameron. She knew he had not been a proponent of Holdo’s advice to leave her job for the campaign without his exactly saying so.

“Alright,” he’d said when Rey told him her decision. “Don’t forget about us little people, okay?”

He hadn’t even looked up from the draft he was correcting, his red wax pencil slashing through clauses and redirecting phrases. She stood in front of him holding a shoebox with her personal effects from her desk under her arm. When he made no further remark, she had turned away and that had been that.

Rey crept towards the fullest room with the stereo in it. Every picture required close study to memorize the details of them and delay her having to face people she’d rather not see. Even since her arrival, the volume had increased several notches. This only caused the guests to speak more loudly, resulting in the stereo ticking another notch towards ten. She wondered that the neighbors didn’t complain. But with so many people out of town for the holiday, she supposed the few who remained might already be in attendance.

Hanging at the door, she finally spied Poe in the corner occupied with a pretty brunette woman. As if he could feel her eyes on him, he glanced up from murmuring in his companion’s ear and caught her.

Rey gave a small smile but her stomach sank as he extricated himself from the girl and crossed the room to her.

“Rey!” Poe practically yelled over the music and bent to peck her cheek in greeting. He smelled strongly of alcohol and leaned against the door jamb to steady himself.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were in DC now?!”

“I’m just in town for the holiday!” Rey said it as loudly as she could without actually yelling herself. She backed a step into the hallway trying to find a quieter spot.

“How’s things been? I saw the story about the senator’s grandfather,” Poe grimaced. “But you were onto that months ago.”

Rey feigned nonchalance.

“It was bound to get out, one way or another.”

“You like Washington?” Poe asked.

“It’s fine,” Rey replied honestly. “It’s just not the city.”

“There’s only one New York,” he agreed with a lopsided grin. “Listen, keep in touch alright? I’m glad you came by.”

“Likewise,” Rey said to Poe’s back. He was already on his way back to his woman on the couch.

Rey sagged back against the wall, taking in the scene around her. Everywhere she looked, couples were beginning to twine around each other. She drained her drink and slipped the empty glass onto a bookshelf. Her balance betrayed her outside the door and she stumbled getting her shoes on, skinning her knee beneath her capris against the hardwood floor of the hallway.

Downstairs on the street, she wandered aimlessly down the main drag of the Village, dodging passers-by and hustlers who called out to her. A crowd blocked the sidewalk above a basement entrance and she followed them down the stone steps, partly out of curiosity and not willing to go around. Her head swirled from the drink and she felt lazy and restless at the same time.

It was a folk club, the likes of which she’d heard of but never visited. Performer after performer mounted the tiny stage, fresh-faced off the bus from places Phasma would no doubt call _the hinterland_ to play their earnest songs on worn-out looking guitars for a cut of a hat that was passed through the audience for tips.

Rey ordered a drink.

Then another.

She hated this folk music, Rey decided. Their songs all spoke of the hard times, but none of these singers looked like they had seen a hard time, ever. They were universally white and well-groomed in a plain but pretentious sort of way. The men sported beards that looked like they came from Amish farms and the women wore long prairie-style dresses despite the sweltering heat.

Another young bearded man stepped up to the mic and strummed his guitar nervously.

“Hey folks,” he intoned as he messed with the tuning. “I know you’re shocked, but I’ve got a song for you. It’s about the glamorous life of a rock’n roll singer. It might be about me. Or it might not.”

Rey rolled her eyes and knocked back the rest of her third drink. At least it wasn’t another song about how farming was pure and cities were evil.

The man’s voice was a bit nasally and his delivery borderline sarcastic as he sang of seducing a young woman to share his lonely motel bed.

_The styrofoam ice bucket is full of ice_

_Come up to my motel room, treat me nice…_

Something sank in Rey in recognition as the lyrics washed over her and she stood suddenly, her chair scraping the floor loudly. The other patrons hissed at her in the darkness to be quiet.

“You be quiet!” Rey retorted, not bothering to whisper.

By the time she mounted the stairs to escape, the singer’s pleas had turned desperate. She pushed blindly past the crowd on the stairs and out into the night.

_Never mind them desk clerk scowls_

_I’ll buy you breakfast_

_They’ll think you’re my wife_

_Come up to my motel room, save my life_

  _Come up to my motel room, save my life..._

 

Rey made it halfway down the block before her tears began to flow down her cheeks. Not even the dope pushers approached her now, giving her a wide berth in recognition of her state of grief.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics are from Loudon Wainwright's incomparable [Motel Blues](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cdmQ7ydeglw). While it didn't appear on an album until 1971's Album II, I like to think he'd have performed an early version of it in 1964 at the Gaslight. A re-record from 2008's Recovery is de rigeur listening IMHO. 
> 
> Come say hi on Tumblr- I'm @theafterglow-writes!


	18. Legacy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, warnings on this chapter for mentions of unpleasant offscreen pet death, so if that bothers you, maybe skip the first section.

The phone ringing woke Ben a solid hour before his alarm went off. The days were getting shorter now that the summer had segued into fall, and his bedroom was still dark. A few crisp nights had turned the edges of maple leaves to red and gold but the days remained warm and uncomfortably humid.

“Hello?”

“Ben!” Han’s voice filled his ear, breathless as always.

“Dad, do you know what time it is?” Ben sat up to squint at the clock. The numbers were illegible despite the newfangled nite-glo face.

“It’s Artoo,” Han replied. “I found him out by the trash this morning.”

What? His father had called to tell him his mother’s infernal dog had gotten into the trash can?

“Dad, he’s _always_ done that!” Ben flopped back onto the pillows and rubbed his fist into his eye socket. “Just don’t let him out without--”

“There was a note attached to his collar,” Han continued and Ben was overcome by a slow sinking feeling. “I think he was poisoned.”

Ben stared at the ceiling, unsure what to say. Despite his father’s complaining, he knew Han had grown more affectionate towards the animals since his mother’s passing and that Tony had always loved the stubby pack that followed him from task to task at the house.

“Because of Grandfather?”

“Yeah, kid,” Han’s answer was short. “Do you want to know what it says?”

“Are you still at the beach?” Ben dodged the question about the note. He could guess well enough from the slogans that had appeared on signs held by protestors outside his recent campaign appearances and the hisses he heard on the street.

“Yeah, we haven’t closed up shop for the winter just yet.”

Ben sat up once more and swung his legs off the side. There was no way sleep would return at this point.

“Dad, I’m a little worried about you being out there.” He felt weird admitting this, as though he were the parent reasoning with an unruly child. “Maybe you should go back to Albany.”

Han was quiet for a moment before he said, “We can’t run from bullies, Ben.”

“Do you want me to come up?” Ben hated the thought of Han there alone as the fall storms began rolling in with more frequency. “I haven’t seen you since the funeral, and I know you need help sorting Mom’s stuff.”

“Nah, I know you’re busy,” Han replied quickly, but Ben detected the note of hope in his voice. “The campaign and all…”

“Fuck it,” he replied. “I’m coming up. There’s nothing in the next few days I can’t manage from the beach.”

“Are you sure?” Han was doing a poor job of disguising his enthusiasm. “I know how it gets--”

Ben stood and stretched. He couldn’t believe he was volunteering to hole up at the beach with his father, but it was the right thing to do.

“I’ll be there for dinner.”

* * *

 

“I need to borrow your car.” Ben stood in front of Hux’s desk with his hands braced on his hips.

“No,” Hux replied without making eye contact. He was hunched over a pile of papers that looked like budget reconciliation.

“Seriously? My dad needs me. Someone poisoned one of the dogs, and he’s all alone up there.”

Hux’s pen hitched for a moment before continuing to tally numbers.

“That’s what the train is for.”

Ben heaved a great sigh. Hux had barely spoken to him since the day after the first debate and continued to make his irritation at Ben’s handling of the situation known. The campaign office, once a buzzing hub of activity, was strangely muted now. Several of the interns had quit citing coursework ramping up at their universities and Mulavey’s people kept to themselves despite their initial push to integrate the two staffs as soon as possible.

“He shouldn't be alone right now,” Ben tried. “Not so soon after Mother’s death.”

“Phas has a thing this weekend,” Hux said primly. “The car is already spoken for.”

“Have you heard of rental cars?!” Ben’s annoyance began to bleed through.

“Have you?” Hux retorted and finally looked up. “Things can’t always be rearranged just because it’s convenient for you.”

“Fuck, Armitage!” He whirled and kept from slamming the office door a second before it contacted the frame. The glass still rattled in the windowpane and the blinds made a sharp sound as he jerked the cord to lower them. Turning back, he spat, “How long are you going to punish me for something that was out of my control?”

Hux capped and replaced his pen deliberately in its cradle at the top of his desk pad before answering.

“You cannot seriously believe that.”

Ben shrugged sarcastically.

“Ben,” Hux sighed. “How do you expect to be president if a thing this small is tearing you up this much?”

“It’s not!” Ben cried. “You’re the one who can’t let it go!”

Hux’s undisguised eyeroll was probable cause to deck him, but Ben kept his fists at his sides. His days of physical violence were confined to a brief period in the tenth grade, before he discovered a cutting remark would leave a mark that lasted far beyond a bruised cheek or a split lip. That, and he’d grown bigger than almost all his peers and was inevitably blamed for escalating confrontations.

Hux turned to his file cabinet and began rifling through the bottom drawer. He swiveled back and threw a thick folder between them with a slap. It was big enough the rubber band holding the file closed bulged when the contents strained against it on impact.

“You have an opportunity to make this right,” Hux gestured at the folder.

“What do you mean?”

Hux pushed it towards him. “You figure it out, genius.”

Hux hadn’t called him that in years, and Ben bristled to hear the old insult back from the dead. Ben knew he was smart, but Hux was always smarter: slightly older, more focused, and ruthless in a way Ben wasn’t. For years Hux had bested him on exams and this subtle put-down cut him to the quick.

Ben grabbed the file and glanced at the tab. Her name was written on it in Hux’s neat block printing.

_REY._

Ben held a lungful of air before exhaling it in one go. He hadn’t looked at the folder since deciding to hire her in the spring. What use was her personnel file now that she was gone?

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

Hux shrugged and resumed his figuring. “That’s up to you. I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

Ben waited a moment before turning towards the door. Surely Hux was bluffing about the car?

His hand was on the knob when his friend went on, “Tell your dad I’m sorry about the dog.”

* * *

The beach house was exactly as Ben remembered it in early fall: the brown leaves dotting the green expanse of the lawn, a hearty gale blowing in off the Atlantic, and the cushions of the patio furniture flipped up on edge by the wind but not yet stowed in the garden shed for the winter. The only thing amiss as he walked from his rental car to the door was a small pile of dirt under a maple tree near the front walk.

He paused and nudged the dirt with the toe of his shoe, still damp underneath from having just been turned over earlier in the day. A single large landscaping rock was placed at the head with a crude bit of text etched onto it.

R2

1958-64

This particular dog was the second with the name, a replacement for an animal so beloved by his mother that she had insisted on getting a second pup from the same breeder and giving it the same name. Had she been alive, he wondered if she would’ve given a third dog the same moniker.

“Dad?” Ben opened the front door and called out. The house seemed very still and a glance around the place confirmed what he suspected: everything was exactly as Leia had left it.

He dropped his bag near the door and proceeded through the living room to the kitchen, only to find both rooms empty.

“Tony?”

There was a thump on the upper level and then their butler’s voice came down the stairs.

“Master Ben! We didn’t expect you so late!”

Ben glanced at his wristwatch and found it was nearly eight in the evening. The ordeal of getting a rental car and driving to the Hamptons had taken longer than expected. His stomach growled angrily as he mounted the stairs two at a time and proceeded to the master bedroom suite where he suspected the racket to be issuing from.

His father and Tony were in the midst of ripping the closet apart and a mountain of his mother’s summer clothes lay heaped up on the bed. The two remaining dogs lay on the Oriental rug, their chins to the carpet but their eyes open and following the men’s every move.

“What are you doing?” Ben asked when he saw the pile.

“Oh, hey son,” Han crossed the room and embraced him. He was clad in a pair of old jeans and a flannel with a fisherman’s sweater over it and Ben wondered if he might be a touch sick. It didn’t feel cold enough to need that many layers so soon. “The ladies at the hospital asked if they could help donate your mom’s things, so we were going through them.”

Tony looked at Ben pityingly and shook his head when Han couldn’t see. The ladies were Leia’s friends from the children’s hospital board. Her death had no doubt provided the most drama of any event in years.

“I see,” Ben clapped his father on the back. “Well…. Can I help?”

Han waved him away as if his question were foolish and moved back towards the mess. “Did you eat? We’re nearly done. Just gotta get the stuff in bags. A lot of it is still new-- maybe they can do a charity auction.”

“Yes, let me make you something,” Tony jumped at the opportunity to do something else. As he sidled by Ben at the door, he squeezed Ben’s elbow in the briefest show of affection and murmured, “I’m glad you came. He’s been…”

They glanced at Han’s back where he stood helplessly with a pair of Leia’s capris in each hand, the price tags still affixed to the belt loops.

“Thanks,” Ben mouthed.

He watched his father for a few moments before trying, “You did a nice job with the marker for Artoo.”

“Oh, that?” Han grimaced. “It was nothing.”

“Did you tell the police?”

“Yeah, we called it in,” Han confirmed. “Said there’s not much they can do-- it was just a pet, all that.”

“Of course not,” Ben grumbled, moving to stand next to his father. He had his suspicions that the sycophantic local police force might even have had something to do with it. He grasped a blouse on the top of the pile and made to fold it.

“You don’t suppose Rey could wear any of this, do you?” Han asked.

Ben froze. He hadn’t told his father about her not being with the campaign anymore, and he knew how much his father liked her. When he didn’t reply immediately, Han continued.

“I guess this stuff’s probably not her style. Too... old for her.”

“I’m not really sure, but I doubt these would fit her,” Ben dodged having to provide more information.

“Right, right,” Han tossed a swimsuit to a bag against the wall. “Of course not.”

Ben folded and sorted clothes in silence alongside his father. When they’d worked through the pile on the bed, he went to the closet door to see what was left. A considerable number of long, beaded evening gowns still hung in dry cleaning bags next to his father’s suits, and a plethora of women’s shoe boxes still lined the shelves overhead. He was about to turn away and invite his father to go downstairs for a drink when a box at the back caught his eye.

Ben stepped into the closet to examine it closer. The cardboard of the box was frayed at the joints, looked considerably older than the other boxes, and had a label pasted over the manufacturer’s with handwriting in a neat script that he recognized in an instant.

He swallowed and brushed his fingers over the letters, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Dad, you feel like a Scotch?”

“Well, I feel like a nut,” Han’s patented joke was muted by the clothes hanging next to him. “But I might feel like Scotch if I drank some!”

Despite the long drive and his discovery, Ben could not stifle a snort of laughter.

“C’mon, Dad.”

His father retired after a modest couple of drinks, citing a long day.

“Been up since dawn,” Han yawned. “I’ve been sleeping in the guest room, so take any of the beds you want.”

Ben retreated to the same room he’d occupied over the holiday weekend, at the end of the upstairs hallway as far from the racket of the staircase as he could get. Reading did nothing to induce sleep, and besides, it was only ten fifteen. His prime work hours were often between ten and one in the morning.

Work was the last thing on his mind as he crept back down the hallway to the master bedroom suite and pulled the closet door closed behind him before fumbling in the dark for the cord to the overhead light. He squinted, his eyes stinging as they adjusted to the harsh, uncovered single bulb’s glare.

The shoebox fit neatly into his palm as he drew it from its hiding place and he sank to the floor with it cradled in his lap.

Looking at his grandmother’s tall, looping handwriting gave Ben a feeling in the triangle where his ribs met that was halfway between excitement and the urge to cry.

 _Ani_ , the label read, and Ben let his head fall back against the wall as he reached inside the box and drew out a packet of letters. Their postmark was clearly foreign, and his heart pounded to see that the dates were well after his grandmother had come to America. Some of them bore postmarks as recent as 1947, shortly before she had passed away.

The letters were also open, cleanly slit across the top edge of the envelope with a knife and the contents folded neatly back inside.

But… Ben shook his head in disbelief. This wasn’t right. She had told him herself she’d never seen Grandfather again.

He drew a letter marked 1936 from the bunch and extracted its contents, reading the foreign-looking cursive script with some difficulty.

 _My darling P.--_    

 _Many months have passed since your last letter so I write in hopes you are safe with our daughter and all is well. I hear America is exciting, but I’m sure it pales in comparison to England_ . _I wish that you could be here to see it now, P. The country is reborn, and an exciting new time lies ahead of us._

Ben scowled at these lines before placing the letter beside him to select another.

_Thank you for your letter and the photograph of our grandson-- he certainly got your looks._

“What?!” Ben whispered to himself. By the date, he would’ve been four when this letter was written, and he knew exactly which portrait it referred to.

Another opened with a desperate bid.

_I know you no longer wish to see or hear from me, but my heart still belongs to you. I cannot stop needing you, no matter how much time and distance is between us. All I ever wanted was for our family to be happy. Surely you can understand this?_

He stopped reading and squinted up at the bulb overhead and his head swam with confusion over his discovery. Padme had really kept in contact with Anakin for most of his childhood? He closed his eyes when they began to burn from the light and he swallowed against the realization that was blossoming in his chest.

She had never _seen_ Grandfather again. That was a strictly true statement. He recognized the hair-splitting distinction now, plain as day. Any lawyer worth their salt would. His father’s repeated comments about how much he took after his grandmother suddenly felt very, very different.

Ben placed the letters back in their envelopes as delicately as he could manage and closed the lid on the box. By the time he reached his room, his hands were shaking and he paced blindly in the small space. He couldn’t settle, not with the nervous energy that now flooded his system. Knowing this, he felt like a different person altogether. An unexpected sense of guilt overcame him that he hadn’t realized the truth in all these years, but how could he? It was so naive, he could see it now, to believe his grandmother would simply have stopped caring about Anakin because she was separated from him.

He straddled the chair at the desk with his head in his hands. Why was he even doing this to himself? Why did he do any of it? He glanced at the pile of folders he’d brought with him and rolled his eyes in disgust to see how behind the campaign was putting him. There was no chance of him winning, not now that the press had latched onto a half-truth that had no bearing on his record or his ability to lead. He’d let down the very people he’d sworn to represent by setting his sights on higher office, and for what?

He pulled Hux’s fat folder from the pile and stared forlornly at it. A peek inside the cover revealed the contents and he shut it again, not wanting to see the pictures. A long moment passed before he dared open the file once more and look at her.

At Rey.

Rey crossing the street.

Rey sitting on a park bench, reading a book.

Rey in a bar, her head thrown back with laughter talking to an unseen party.

Ben huffed and rubbed his eyes. He knew from Hux she had returned to New York, but he had no idea what she was doing. They had not spoken directly since the fourteenth of August.

He paged through the papers from the report on her comings and goings, to her school records, to the records of her adoption. It felt strange now to think there was a time when she had been a stranger to him, a person who had warranted this level of suspicion. Now hardly an hour passed when he didn’t think about where she was, or what would become of her. If she had divided his attention before, however pleasantly, she drove him to distraction now in her enforced absence.

His grandfather’s words repeated themselves to him: _I cannot stop needing you_.

He studied her birth certificate in some detail. It looked similar to his own, having been born in the same state, but the detail on hers was sketchy at best. The line for father contained only a man’s first name--Philip-- with a question mark where the surname would go. His country of birth, England. Age at time of birth, twenty-five-question-mark.

Her mother’s information was more complete, and Ben calculated the woman named Ann McGrath of Connecticut would only be forty-five this year.

Ben paged through the remaining pages listlessly before an idea began buzzing in the back of his mind.

He stood suddenly, catching the chair just before it fell over backwards. It was at least several hours’ drive back to the city, even without traffic. The clock was edging towards eleven-thirty, putting an arrival at nearly two in the morning.

He paced again, realizing he would have to wait until morning.

* * *

 

His heart pounded from climbing the stairs as he stood in front of number five-fifteen. It was a hair past ten in the morning and he hesitated for a moment to catch his breath before knocking on her door. He couldn’t hear any movement inside and he wondered if she was still asleep.

He knocked again, slower but louder this time, and began to feel foolish standing in her hallway. The neighborhood was still waking up this Saturday morning, vendors rolling up their security gates and fathers strolling with dogs and papers under their arms. The building was definitely on the low-rent end of things from the look of it. The garbage chute down the hallway looked to be stuck and someone had left their trash bag sitting on the floor, the door stuck halfway open with another bag hanging half out of it. The smell was not yet overwhelming, but it was hardly pleasant.

His third knock was tentative now with the thought she might have come to the door, looked out the peephole and was simply ignoring him. Or… had she possibly moved?

Ben oscillated back to the stairs and to the door once more before deciding to take a seat on the stairs and wait.

He clutched the folder on his lap and felt silly with his awkwardly long limbs folded to make room if another party needed to pass. His heart jumped each time he heard the door open downstairs, but each party exited the stairs on a lower floor.

A door opened on the floor behind him and he leaned back to see a portly, sweating man in an undershirt and baggy trousers backing out of his apartment.

“Excuse me?” Ben called after him.

“You need something?” The man’s voice was gravelly and his accent was not quite American sounding.

“Sorry to bother you, but do you know if the young woman in fifteen still lives here? Brunette gal?”

The man grunted and continued pulling some sort of mechanical contraption out of the door. Ben wasn’t sure he’d heard the question over the racket he was making and was about to repeat himself when the man answered.

“She come, she go. Still here.”

“Thanks, man,” Ben breathed a sigh of relief. “And… do you need a hand?”

“No!” The answer was definite, as if the man thought Ben might be trying to steal the junk out from under him. He wondered where the man was taking the mess, since the only stairway was the one he was seated on. He decided to mind his own business.

Just then, a young woman’s laughter floated up the stairwell and he perked up. It wasn’t Rey’s voice, but the footsteps were still ascending and he could make out the sound of another voice mixed with the first now.

A blonde-headed woman rounded the corner into view first, followed by a petite, dark-haired girl who was talking nonstop.

The blonde stopped dead in her tracks and a scowl crossed her face when she saw him and the other nearly ran into her.

“KK, what are you doing? I almost dropped the coffees!”

“What are _you_ doing here?” This KK clearly knew who he was and was not pleased.

The second woman stared up at him open-mouthed and he was just raising his hand in greeting when she began to babble.

“Oh, my goodness, what are y-- I mean, hi. Hi! I’m Rose, and this KK-- Kaydel, but no one calls her that, we just call her KK, but… You don’t need to know that, Senator. Right? Senator? Is that what we’re supposed to call you? I mean, we’re just college students and you’re in Congress so how would we know? Although, you spoke at the public library in my hometown when you were campaigning, but I’m sure you don’t remember a little place like-- ”

“Hi, Rose,” he tried to interrupt her. “And KK, nice to meet you--”

“Ben?!”

Rey rounded the corner and stood behind them now, clutching a large paper bag showing grease stains. The smell of donuts mingled with the odor from the garbage and despite himself, Ben realized he was hungry.

“Hi,” he breathed. “I wasn’t sure if you still lived here.”

Her blonde friend crossed her arms and cocked her hip out in a show of impatience. “It’s none of your business where she lives, is it?”

“Connix, hush,” Rey calmed the other woman even as her eyes flashed with anger at him. “It’s a free country.”

“Can I… talk to you?”

Rose looked like she was about to melt into a puddle while Connix looked like she might charge up the stairs and kick him in the shin. She looked tough as nails and before Rey could answer she spat, “There’s nothing you can’t say front of us, is there?”

“That’s up to you, Rey,” he glanced at her and thought Rose whispered something under her breath that sounded like, _so romantic_.

Rey hitched the bag a little higher in her arms and shifted her weight between her feet. She looked less than pleased to see him, but she finally said, “Why don’t you two go get breakfast ready, and I’ll be there in a minute?”

When her friends failed to move, she thrust the bag towards Connix with her eyebrows raised. The two women started up the last half-flight of stairs and Ben rose politely to give them room as they passed. Connix’s expression could’ve curdled milk, but this Rose looked like a teenager at her first Beatles concert, ready to burst into tears or throw her panties towards the stage at any moment.

“It was so nice to meet you,” she gushed, backing into Rey’s door balancing the coffees delicately in front of her. “You’re so… tall!”

“Rose, go!” Rey cried.

The door clicked shut and the only sound was the shuffling of the man with his machinery down the hall. She remained on the landing and he walked slowly down to stand in front of her.

“What are you doing here?” Rey demanded, folding her arms protectively over herself.

“I heard you were back in the city,” he began. “And I was out at the beach to see my dad. He says hello.”

Her expression softened a hair at the mention of Han before hardening once more.

“It’s a long drive to the Hamptons from here. Surely you didn’t just drop by.”

He leaned his shoulder against the wall and felt his bravado crumbling in the face of her icy reception. He had rehearsed his speech ad nauseum in the car, but none of it felt right as he stood here with her glaring up at him. Her anger came off her in waves and he thought it best to keep it short.

“No, you’re right. I came to bring you this.” He held out the folder.

“What is that?” She looked at him with suspicion.

He gestured towards her with it once more. “Something I think you’ve always wanted to know.”

Rey drew the folder away from him and opened it, turning halfway away as if to shield the contents from his prying eyes. He shoved his hands in his pockets and watched as her face changed. She flipped the pages back and forth, studying them before closing it and holding it to her chest.

“My mother still lives here?” Rey sounded small and he wanted nothing more than to crush her against him but stayed against the wall, giving her space.

“Yeah, kid.”

Her eyes flicked up to meet his and she smiled sardonically. “What happened to letting old things die? Are you feeling sentimental all of a sudden, old man?”

Ben tucked his chin to his chest and toed a scuff mark on the linoleum. Her teasing nickname still made his stomach flip-flop.

“Rey, I… I hope you know, what happened with work doesn’t change how I feel about you. As a person.”

“Just--don’t, okay?” Her answer was short. “I should get back to my friends.”

There was a loud thump in the hallway above them as the man slammed his door once more. She edged past him and started up the stairs. He followed her up with his eyes and his heart leapt stupidly as she paused midway to say, “Tell Han I say hi, and I’m sorry about what happened. And…. thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he managed as she closed the door behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My childhood friend's family did exactly what I describe in this chapter: had multiple, identical-looking dogs from the same breeder that they named the same thing sequentially (Peaches I, II, and III). They were mean German Shepherds that were bred by a guy down their street who had trained police dogs for K-9 units. Her younger brother had a series of hermit crabs that also bore the same names (Rocky 1-?, RIP!). I couldn't make this stuff up! 
> 
> Hit me up on Tumblr -- I'm @theafterglow-writes.


	19. Die Vergangenheit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long time since my last update; briefly, Ben grew a conscience and showed up unexpectedly at Rey's door with information about her birth parents while KK and Rose were visiting.

Rey closed the door behind her. She stared at the folder in her hand, unsure of what to do. She felt lightheaded thinking of the contents and what it meant. Impossibly enough, it dwarfed the feelings she had about seeing Ben so unexpectedly.  

Her tiny apartment was a disaster with the girls staying for the weekend: bags everywhere, sheets on the floor, underwear washed in the sink then hung up to dry in the shower stall. The three of them filled the space completely and then some.

“Oh my gosh!” Rose rushed up to her with hands clasped over her heart. “Are you alright? What did he say? What is that? I totally said the stupidest thing, he probably thinks I’m a moron--”

“No,” Rey shook her head, not answering Rose’s questions. “I’m sure he doesn’t think that.”

Connix eyed Rey warily from her position at the kitchen counter where she assembled the donuts on a ragtag collection of saucers and transferred their coffees into mugs.

Rey sank to her lone dining chair in silence and looked between her friends. The women's faces couldn’t have been more different: Rose, bright and almost vibrating with excitement at the chance celebrity encounter, and Connix, still coolly skeptical.

“My mom--I mean, my birth mother--lives in Connecticut,” she announced. She lifted the folder as if merely showing it to them helped impart this information.

Rose gasped and Connix merely raised her eyebrows.

“Are you going to see her?”

“What do you mean, is she going to see her?!” Connix’s voice was hoarse with her sarcasm. “That woman threw Rey away like garbage!”

The raw sentiment left Rey speechless. The thought had crossed her own mind many times but hearing it from her friend’s mouth felt like a punch to the gut.  

“Kay, that’s just mean,” Rose shook her head and frowned. Her sunny features saddened immediately. “You don’t know what Rey’s mom’s intentions were.” She glanced at Rey. “I mean… It’s up to you to decide if you want that.”

“I don’t know,” Rey admitted and her voice wavered despite clearing her throat. “I just always thought she would be… somewhere else? Somewhere far away, you know, not… Here.”  

Connix turned to them fully now and crossed her arms. “And… what the hell was _that_ about?” She motioned towards the door with a jerk of her chin. “Senator Dickhead thinks he can just show up here after what he did to you? That’s horseshit.”

Rey smoothed her hand over the folder and held a lungful of air, letting it out very slowly in short puffs. She was determined not to cry in front of her friends but the way her feelings churned now in her midsection stole her breath.

“Connix, what crawled up your butt and died?!” Rose sounded angry now. “He did right to give Rey the information about her family, even if he wasn’t right to let her go!”

“Why does he have that folder in the first place?” Connix retorted. “Rey didn’t even know that! What right does he have to know about her mother?”

“KK, please,” Rey sighed. “That’s in the past now.”

Connix’s face twisted with what Rey read as disgust. “I don’t believe you--you still have feelings for him?”

Rose came to her rescue before she had to address that question.

“Kaydel Ko Connix, give Rey a break, will you? She just had a huge shock and you’re jumping all over her for something that’s not even under her control! She didn’t invite him here! And he’s trying to make up! I swear, you’re a bull in a china shop sometimes!” Rose snatched one of the plates of donuts off the counter and thrust it into Connix’s face. “Eat a donut or something!”

A nervous giggle escaped Rey at the sight of her friends arguing this way and the two turned to her in disbelief.

“You guys!” Rey cried, wiping away a tear of laughter. “I don’t know what I’m going to do, alright? You’re here to visit, let’s enjoy it. Give me one of those damn donuts already.”

She extended a hand for a plate and Rose turned wordlessly, delivering the cruller she had been threatening Connix with a moment before.

“Sorry, Rey,” she muttered. “We just don’t want to see you hurt.”

“I know,” Rey spoke around a mouthful of greasy dough. “But I’m pretty tough, remember? I’ll figure things out.”

* * *

  

Rey traced the same path between her place and the WWD offices each day: past the bodega, along the edge of the park, to the subway stop that carried her within six blocks of the skyscraper that held the temporary desk where she toiled.

This work differed in nature from her reporting, and even further still from her time on the campaign. If her new colleagues knew about her history with the senator, they couldn’t be bothered to show it. Midge fit right in, her stubborn sense of masculine style not a curiosity but rather a bold declaration of belonging amongst the lithe fashionistas and exacting men who inhabited this office. Rey had never been around people quite like this; Armitage came the closest with his neatly groomed uniforms of slacks and button-downs, but even he fell short of the ensembles these gents assembled on the daily. Her attempts at putting together trendy outfits that reused the pieces she’d worn for political appearances were met with silence or the occasional raised eyebrow followed by a comment like, “Oh, how… interesting.”

The subject matter she edited now varied far less, and this gave Rey’s mind ample chance to wander. If it was slow, she volunteered to nip out for errands and lingered at the newsstands reading the headlines on the major papers.

The second debate had occurred the week before and this time the reporting was strongly in favor of Erlandsson: his age, his experience, his strong, contrarian stance on the civil rights question. Rey shook her head gently as she poured over the coverage at a coffee shop and thought of Finn’s remark in Atlantic City. If the senator’s views represented the future, Erlandsson apparently spoke for the silent majority of the present who would not be so easily swayed into giving their fellow man an equal say.

All this was a welcome, if confusing, distraction from the other thing in her life at the moment.

Eight days had passed since she posted a letter to an address in Connecticut.

As she wandered between her tasks, she daydreamed how the house bearing that address might look, what this woman named Ann McGrath might be like. Rey had pictured her birth parents many times, but suddenly none of the people in her mind’s eye seemed right. Just knowing her mother’s name changed how she thought of them. Curiously, the knowledge that this woman was alive and well and living so close by accentuated Rey’s sense of loneliness rather than abating it. All this time, they had orbited so close to one another without being aware of the other's existence.

She tried not to have expectations. Really, she tried.

But it was so hard not to think of how would she feel if she received something back. Or if the woman wanted to meet her?

Or, what if... she received nothing?

Rey entered her building and was glad of the cool dark in the early evening heat, a product of the Indian summer that gripped the city. Frost had already crusted the grass of the parks once or twice, but to look outside, one might think it was still high summer. Students lay outside on blankets, fathers wore shorts to walk the family dog, and women sported bare shoulders. Her new colleagues remained stubbornly committed to the notion of fall, sweating through wool gabardine dresses and suffering silently Mod sweaters.

She was dripping too by the time she reached the landing of her floor and waved a curt hello to her neighbor, the man who called himself Unkar. Of all her neighbors, it was he who had her most concerned about doing the sublet while she was gone to Washington. He was an immigrant from Eastern Europe, spoke in broken English, and seemed deeply suspicious of everyone. She had never known anyone quite like him: obsessed with others following the house rules, but also proudly boasting how he’d found crafty ways to break them. He never appeared outside his door without some piece of junk he’d scrapped from God knew where, and Rey shuddered to think what the inside of his unit must be like. Thankfully she didn’t share a wall with him.

She was nearly inside her apartment when her neighbor called after her.  

“Your friend-- is politician, right?”

Rey stepped back a half-step into the hallway and looked over at Unkar. She didn’t realize he had met Ben.

“He’s not my friend,” she replied. She hoped it sounded noncommittal.

Unkar grunted and rearranged his latest haul at his feet before replying. His collection of hubcaps gathered together in a mesh bag rattled loudly in the close space.

“Didn’t think so. Otherwise you would have better place to live.”

Rey was stunned at his insinuation but managed, “I guess you must not know any politicians either, then.”

Unkar’s face twisted slowly into a gap toothed grin before a chortle of raspy laughter escaped him.

“You are right. You are right! Me neither. We both live in this shithole together!”

“Have a good evening,” Rey called, closing the door behind her and sagging back against it in relief. She let her purse fall to the floor and bent to pick up the bundle of mail.

A handwritten envelope amongst the advertisements and a printed utility bill caught her eye immediately and she froze; she knew who it was from without needing to look at the return address.

Rey went to her table, sat down gingerly on the lone chair, and propped the letter up against the salt shaker. Her hands trembled as she stared at it, trying to decide whether to open it or wait. Her address was printed in neat, block capitals that reminded her of her first grade teacher’s writing on the chalkboard. The return address was on the backside in the middle above the v-shape formed by the envelope flap.

What was she waiting for?

Rey rose and set to tidying her apartment, leaving the letter in its place. She refused to look at it yet.

The sun had been down for what felt like hours but the clock read only seven forty-five when she settled cross-legged onto her bed and slit the envelope with a knife. It contained a single sheet of paper with writing only on the front side. Unlike the outside, the body of the letter was cursive, and Rey found she had to squint to make out some of the words.

_Dear Rey,_

_Your letter came as quite a surprise, though I hope you know I often wondered what became of you. Congratulations on your recent graduation! It sounds as though you are getting on quite well in the world._

Rey bit her lower lip. She had not mentioned her termination in her own letter, only that she had finished at Bard.

_For my part, I am the proud parent of three wonderful children who are a bit younger than you. My husband works in the city at a bank and I’m just resuming my medical career (part-time, naturally) at the local hospital._

_Please understand when I ask that you don’t contact me again. My husband doesn’t know that I had another child, and your birth was source of great disappointment and shame to my parents. They are quite devout, as were your adoptive parents, and I let them down by returning pregnant from my service in England during the war. I was eager to serve our country and to put my nursing training to use, but woefully naive in the ways of the world and more so of men and women._

Rey’s lungs felt tight, the sensation of a door closing in her face even as she understood the sentiment perfectly.

_You asked about your father. Please don’t think badly of me for saying I knew very little of him. His name was Philip, and he was a patient in my ward for only a short while. His good humor in the face of such tragedy and his own injury drew me to him, and we had a brief dalliance before he was transferred back to the front. I blush even now thinking of how unprofessionally I acted, but it was a different time, and I am a different person._

_Thank you for easing my mind that I made the right choice all those years ago. Not a day went by when I didn’t question if I did what was best for you. I wish you the best of luck and all that life has to offer. God be with you, always!_

_With kind regards,_

_Ann_

Rey felt dizzy as she skimmed the letter once more before laying back against her pillow. Her eyes burned with tears but she refused to blink. The waiting and uncertainty had become part of who she was such that she didn’t know how to feel without it. While she didn’t expect that her mother wanted to see her, knowing that she had three other children and didn’t consider Rey part of _her family_ made her draw a deep lungful of air and hold it until it burned. This woman had given birth to her, but now Rey felt… KK’s words echoed in her mind.

She rolled to her side and the unshed tears leaked out onto the pillow beneath her cheek.

* * *

 

“I don’t know what I expected, writing to her like that. That it would give me comfort, or that I would find answers, but….”

Only a car horn bleating on a distant street broke the silence of her revelation.

“I was wrong. I’ve never felt so alone.”

“You remember what you told me, right? You’re not alone,” Ben replied.

Rey traced the pattern on her sheet for awhile before answering. She was surprised to have reached him at home but couldn’t think of anyone else to call with her news. Or, her not-news.

“How’re things?” She mumbled it with a pitiful snuffle to clear her nose. Her head ached from crying and now felt as stuffy as if she had a cold.

“They’re shit,” he answered honestly. “I’m sorry, kid, I thought--”

“Don’t be sorry,” she cut him off. “I’m glad you told me.”

Ben huffed before continuing, “So, yeah--things are shit, but thanks for asking. I guess I can always go back to Albany and do pro bono work, since I’m pretty sure no decent firm will want to hire a washed up ex-senator with a Nazi granddad after I lose.”

“It’s not too late,” Rey objected. “You can’t just give up like this.”

“Maybe we were wrong,” Ben continued, ignoring her sentiment. “Maybe the country doesn’t want change. They want to stay right where they are, holding on to the past.”

Rey sighed. “It can be a hard thing to let go of.”

“Sure, the good parts,” Ben conceded easily. “But the horrible parts too? I don’t get it.”

Rey was silently considering when Ben spoke again. She traced the boundaries of her small room with her eyes, imagining him in his living room on the couch beneath Hux’s ridiculous painting.

“How are you?” He asked in a cautious tone. “Aside from this stuff, I mean.”

“Getting on,” she answered. “Doing a bit of contract work editing at Women’s Wear Daily.”

“Isn’t that a… fashion magazine?” Ben chuckled.

“It’s a ‘fashion industry trade journal’, thank you very much.” Rey parroted the slogan with a sly smile.

“Oh, excuse me.” She could hear his smile despite his sarcastic tone. “Do you like it?”

She paused. “It’s different.”

“I bet.”

“My neighbor was asking about you,” she went on. “He asked why you couldn’t get me a better apartment, since you’re a fancy important politician.”

Ben snorted. “That guy down your hall with all the junk? He’s lucky someone doesn’t call the super on him.”

“Did you talk to him? You’re lucky he didn’t call the cops on you for being in the building!”

“I just asked if you still lived there,” Ben replied. “That’s all. I was worried you might’ve moved.”

The silence stretched out between them before she continued.

“How’s Han doing?” Rey hated the idea of him alone at the beach. The big, old house was beautiful but she had the sense that it was Leia’s boondoggle. She could imagine Han being lost there without Leia.  

“He’s…” Ben trailed off, searching for a word. “He’s sad. They drove each other nuts, but she was the love of his life.”

Rey remained quiet and picked at the edge of her pillowcase. The pounding in her head was lessening.

“It’s not too late,” she repeated. “There’s still almost six weeks before the election. A lot can happen in that time.”

“Will you vote for me?”

“It’s a secret ballot, Senator,” she teased. “You know that.”

“Then just promise me you’ll vote,” he tried.

“Well, I’ve had it on my calendar for months.”

Ben hummed and Rey could hear his defeat even in the small noise.

“I’m….” He broke off as though he thought better of what he was about to say before forging on. “I’m glad you called.”

Rey’s chest tightened and her eyes felt scratchy once more.

“It was nice to hear your voice,” Ben continued. “Don’t be a stranger.”

“Likewise,” she managed to whisper. “Goodnight, Ben.”

“Goodnight, kid.”

Rey pressed the receiver to her ear until the dial tone ended and the operator’s voice startled her into hanging up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello readers! My apologies for such a long gap between installments. We had houseguests for basically a month straight (including my mother-in-law for an unplanned 2-week visit; unplanned in that she was invited for 7 days, which became 10, which became 14 days) and while it was mostly all good and fun, I was incredibly busy and just could not get time alone to write. Thanks to everyone who checked in during the break -- it really means a lot to hear from you! :) 
> 
> I totally picture Rey's time at WWD being like The Devil Wears Prada. :)
> 
> HMU on Tumblr - I'm @theafterglow-writes.


	20. The Ties That Bind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hola lovers! My apologies for the long break between chapters. Late September and early/mid October IRL have simply been crazy. Thank you so much for continuing to read-- I can't believe there are multiple hundreds of people subscribed to this?? It humbles me every time I peek at the stats. I hope you continue to enjoy INU!!
> 
> When last we left our OTP, Rey had received a letter from her birth mother and commiserated with Ben via telephone about how it made her feel. He is similarly down in the dumps and realizing how much he misses her.

_October 10, 1964_

_Washington, D.C._

 

With the election less than a month away and his numbers firmly ten points behind Erlandsson in the polls for the last three weeks, Ben found himself dreading the engagements that Hux insisted he keep. People kept coming, but he could detect the shift in their demeanor towards him. He had gone from being a curiosity of a good kind to a freak show of another sort almost overnight.

When people approached him to shake his hand now, he wondered what they would tell their family later. If they asked him _how he was_ , he didn’t know if they were being sincere or just trying to bait him into saying something they could repeat in sordid, insider detail as though they knew him.

 _You could tell_ , he imagined them saying. _You could tell_ , in the same tones as the neighbors and long-lost friends who always seemed to magically appear out of the woodwork every time a grisly crime was committed by a seemingly upstanding, mild mannered member of a local community. There was just something about him…

He didn’t have it in him to pretend any longer he had enthusiasm as he stood in front of this particular crowd this evening. He delivered his speech by wrote and it didn’t even bother him that the audience was silent for most of it. The freewheeling, easy days of May and June were a long way in the rearview as he looked out at these voters; they were tired after a long day at work, and so was he. They had concerns about the stability and longevity of their jobs.

So did he.

Ben gripped the edge of the wood podium in the Bethlehem Primitive Baptist Church on the outskirts of Baltimore and wished he was home alone on his couch with a scotch. Even watching early season basketball would be preferable to being stared at by people who might well hate him.

“And so,” he concluded for what felt like the millionth time. “I ask you: if not us, who? If not now, when?”

The applause was restrained and some of the crowd leapt out of their seats the moment he thanked them for coming, doffed their hats and made beelines for the doors. A line formed up the aisle between the wooden pews and he gamely worked his way down it, shaking hands and answering questions.

“Senator, what would you do about the situation with the buses here if you become President?” The elderly man looked over his reading glasses and Ben detected a slight tremor as they shook hands very slowly and sincerely. He was very serious in his question, and Ben didn’t have the heart to deflect it. It wasn’t the type of thing Ben would deal directly with now, let alone if he were president.

But what did it matter? That wasn’t going to happen, was it.

“What’s going on with the buses,” he asked. He glanced over the top of the man’s head and noticed Hux deeply engaged in a conversation with young colored woman at the back of the nave. As if he could feel Ben’s gaze, Hux looked up and met his eyes for a split second before turning his full attention back to the woman before him.  

“Well,” the gentleman in front of him drew a deep breath and Ben steeled himself for a rant. “Now, son. We are living in a desegregated society, or so you political wonks keep insisting. However! Can you tell me, why is it the bus drives right by when our brothers and sisters are standing at the stop?”

Ben stared at the man, uncomprehending, distracted by his thoughts of Hux and the woman.

“Are the buses full? Sometimes they can’t let on more passengers for safety--”

“No, sir! No, sir.” The man was insistent. “I’m talking about plenty of room, and they just drive on by.”

The crowd that surrounded the man murmured their agreement, a few other gentlemen even throwing in their own _Amen, brother_.

Ben felt his cheeks flame in embarrassment. He knew full well the reason some drivers chose not to stop.

“That’s not right,” he mumbled.

“Of course it’s not!” The man took off his glasses and hung them in the front of his shirt. “Look, son. I’m gonna vote for you. I am. But you gotta understand--” His hand shot out and gripped Ben’s forearm with a strength that belied his fragile look. “You’re talking all this stuff, way up here in the clouds, but some folks just can’t even get to work on time. You see?”

Ben nodded, mute.

“We want to work. We want to do a good job. But then we get called lazy because the bus won’t stop.”

A ripple went through the crowd once more. Heads nodded and Ben nodded along with them. He placed his hand over the man’s, still locked around his forearm in a vise grip, and squeezed in sympathy. What could he say? He knew he was part of the problem as much as the solution to this man, and to the men and women surrounding him.

“You’re right,” he agreed. “That’s unfair, and it’s wrong. I’m glad you mentioned it, Mr.--” He broke off.

“Lee,” the man supplied. “Mr. Lee.”

“Mr. Lee, I appreciate you coming forward about this. It’s important for officials to hear from you what it’s like locally,” he admitted. “It’s easy to get isolated from what it’s like for regular folks.”

“Damn straight!” A voice carried from the back of the group.

It was Hux. When Ben met his eyes once more with a small smile, he was surprised to see a look of smug triumph on his friend’s face.

Ben continued shaking hands and answering questions for another forty minutes before the crowd dissipated and he sank into the first pew, exhausted.

“Who was that woman?” He asked Hux with his eyes closed as he rubbed his fingers against his eyelids. It felt like sand was crusted between his lids and eyeballs.

“Just a supporter,” Hux replied.

Ben opened his eyes once more and blinked wearily at Hux.

“She was talking to you for a long time,” Ben tried. Something about it didn’t sit right with him.

“She’s a big fan,” Hux shrugged. “You ready for dinner? Phas is probably ready to kill us.”

Ben nodded. He’d agreed to come over for a meal after the event and he was starving. Committee meetings had interfered with lunch and he was well past the point of being peckish.

“Let’s go.”

* * *

 

The modern metal starburst clock showed a quarter to nine by the time Ben sat down on Hux’s chartreuse couch and rested his head against the back. He allowed himself to close his eyes and listen to Hux murmuring to Phasma in the kitchen. She gave Hux a scowl when they’d dragged in a few minutes earlier but cheered quickly when he asked her what she’d made and put his hands on her waist as she stood at the stove.

Ben felt a strange pang just looking at them and turned away to pour himself a drink at the bar cart by the sideboard in the dining room.

They made a curious pair, these two. If Ben had placed a bet when they’d met two years prior, he’d surely be poorer, as he couldn’t have predicted they would last past a couple dates.

Before Phas, Armitage had a distinct type: petite but sporty brunettes from good, old money families who wanted Barnard, then brownstones and babies. It wasn’t so different from himself, he supposed, except Hux was far more inclined than he had ever been to lead these young women on for a bit. This had resulted in a number of nasty break-ups, including one that had Hux sleeping on Ben’s couch for a week until the last ex had relinquished his belongings in a heap outside on the apartment courtyard lawn.

No, Phasma was not Hux’s type at all. Taller than his friend and just as broad in the shoulders, she had a knowing laugh that came from growing up with brothers. She knew every crude reference and could make most men blush with her sailor’s mouth. Nor was she interested in Hux, not at first. But his friend was immediately besotted with her and her indifference had made him crazed with lust.

Ben sipped his drink and listened to her laughter as Hux told her something funny. His stomach growled impatiently but he knew better than to hurry them.

Hearing their easy domesticity made him wonder what might have happened between him and Rey had the story about Anakin not broken the way it did.

She’d called him two weeks prior after receiving the letter from her birth mother and he could still hear the hurt in her voice when she’d told him about it.

 _I’ve never felt so alone_.

Maybe, Ben thought, after this whole ordeal was over, after he lost the election and his Senate seat and he returned to his home state, maybe he wouldn’t go back upstate after all. Maybe he would take a place in the city and get a regular attorney job and maybe, somehow, he would bump into Rey. He pictured them crossing paths at the corner store. Meeting the way normal people do.

_Oh, I didn’t realize you were back here._

_That’s funny, I didn’t know you lived in this neighborhood._

She’d probably still be mad at him at first, if he was realistic. But eventually bygones would be bygones and they’d move in together and maybe he’d make her happy. They could get a cute dog and some house plants and do the Sunday Times crossword in bed together. They’d laugh about how they once tried to get him elected president, and he’d toss away the paper and her pencil to make love to her instead. Maybe she’d want a couple of kids, or maybe not. He didn’t know how she felt about that because it had never come up between them. He could see it going both ways: her wanting a pack of children to make up for their being onlies, or not wanting any. Either one was fine with him, truly.

Ben imagined them having his hair, but her eyes.

His mother had begun hinting about grandbabies around the time he’d finished law school, at first subtly but then more pointedly through his Senate campaign.

“It’s not a bad strategy, Ben,” she’d said one night at dinner. “Voters like to see themselves in their leaders.”

Besides overstepping the bounds of familial propriety, her comment had lingered with him over the years for other, more cynical reasons. He knew his parents’ relationship to be thorny for reasons that went beyond their obvious differences in age, nationality, and social status. Political duties taking his father away from home so often worked well for their particular marriage. There had been times--many times-- when Ben wondered whether they didn’t actually hate each other a bit. There were many others when he’d been convinced his birth had been a band-aid to help bind them back together.

Considering all this, Ben caught himself breathing so shallowly he had to take a great, deep breath to catch up. What was _the matter_ with him? He’d never had these thoughts about a woman before.

But it seemed so clear now, this future together.

“Ben?” Phasma’s amused tone broke into his thoughts.

“Phas!” He shook his head and leaned forwards. “Sorry, was I asleep?”

Phasma stood over him, an apron still tied firmly around her waist. It looked like the most un-Phasma-like item he could imagine: a red gingham print, with ruffles sewn around the edges.

“Not unless you were sleeping with your eyes open,” she said gently. “Armitage just has to make a phone call, but then dinner’s ready.”

Ben wondered silently whom Hux might be calling at this late hour. Perhaps someone out west, where it was still a decent time of evening. He chose not to remark on it and asked instead, “Where’d you get that apron?”

“Nebraska,” Phasma dead-panned and cocked her hip in an imitation of a fashion model posing. “Isn’t it fetching?”

He couldn’t help but smile at her sarcasm.

“Gift from your family?”

“Of course.” Phasma’s eye roll confirmed his suspicions about her apparel’s origins. “My grandmother.”

Ben’s gaze fell and he took a long sip of his drink before answering. He hadn’t known three-quarters of his grandparents, and after discovering the box of Padme’s letters to Anakin, he was beginning to feel like he didn’t know any of them. He tried to picture his grandmother, aristocratic and reserved, making any kind of handicrafts and the mental image gave him a sudden pang of nostalgia.

“Do you miss them? Your family?”

Phasma sank down beside him on their couch, considering his question.

“Is it bad if I say no?” Phasma’s wry smile told him she didn’t care what he thought either way.

Ben shook his head at her. “I’m not judging.”

The two of them sat quietly, pondering this.

“Who died in here?” Hux rounded the corner from their office and took in the scene. “I’m starving!”

“You’re awfully chipper,” Ben remarked. In fact, his friend was practically glowing. There was a light in Hux’s eyes that Ben remembered from debate team in school, one Ben hadn’t seen in Hux in many weeks now at the office.    

“You will be too once you see Phas’s meatloaf,” Hux retorted. “It’s her mom’s recipe.”

Ben and Phasma exchanged a private glance.

They rose and went to the table. They were just seated when Hux said offhandedly, “I’ll be out tomorrow. Gotta go up to the city to see about something.”

Ben narrowed his eyes at Hux but didn’t reply immediately. What was in New York?  

“Okay,” he said simply. “Just you, or…?”

“Just me.” Hux didn’t meet his eyes and helped himself instead to a large slice of steaming baked meat.

“Mashed potatoes, Ben?” Phasma dished a spoonful of creamy potatoes onto his plate without waiting for his answer.

Ben’s brow creased for a split second before he picked up his fork and took a bite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What are [Primitive Baptists](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Primitive_Baptists)? There was a Primitive Baptist congregation down the street from my friend's apartment in Oakland, CA, or else I would not have ever heard of this particular sect. 
> 
> What's a [starburst clock](https://content.haycdn.com/mgen/master:STIO644.jpg?is=400,400,0xffffff) look like? 
> 
> How I picture [Phux's couch](https://chairish-prod.freetls.fastly.net/image/product/sized/e1cdb73e-dfa4-42c8-8f17-ab7e6db61521/chartreuse-vintage-green-velvet-sofa-7766?aspect=fit&width=640&height=640). 
> 
> I'm @theafterglow-writes on Tumblr -- drop me a line or say hi! I love hearing from readers.


	21. Pivoting

The weather turned unseasonably cold the day Rey trudged to the coffee shop down the block following her shift at the _Daily_. Snow flurries dusted the tops of rubbish bins and piles of cardboard on loading docks, pedestrians flipped their collars up against the wind, and dogs hurried ahead of their owners to get back inside by the fire.

She warmed herself with a cup of coffee as she waited, seated at a table next to the window to watch the city pass her by. The shop wasn’t terribly busy this late in the afternoon; the lone waitress on duty tallied her receipts and the line cook read the paper behind the counter. A few other customers sat scattered through the small restaurant waiting for their trains home or enjoying a moment alone before returning to the crowded chaos of home life.

Each time the bell at the door jingled, Rey straightened up only to slump back in her seat once more. She felt foolish to be so jumpy, but the purpose of this meeting was vague and it left her prickling with anticipation.

The doorbell sounded three more times and Rey had to refrain from checking her watch or glancing at the clock above the kitchen window each time. She stared absently into her cup when the smell of cold air and a familiar voice startled her.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” Hux smiled, unwinding his plaid scarf from his neck. “The train got held up and it was a further walk than I expected.”

Rey rose and pulled him into a brief hug before saying, “It’s not like I have plans. It’s Wednesday evening.”

Hux sank into the seat across from her and nodded once. “It’s good to see you. Phas sends her regards.”

“Tell her hello, please. I miss seeing you two.”

There was a beat of silence, then the waitress paused at their table and Hux ordered a tea. It came only a minute later and Hux set the bag to steeping in the small metal pot.

In truth, she almost missed Phas and Hux more than the senator. She and Phasma had spoken on the phone a few times over the past couple months, but it felt strained after what had happened. And no matter what they felt privately about her, she knew they had to publicly toe the line that had been drawn with one rash decision.  

“How have you been?”

Rey hesitated. She wondered how much Ben might have told Hux about her recently, or if he even knew Ben had come to see her?  

“Getting on, I suppose.”

Hux dunked his teabag and made a meticulous show of wrapping the string around it on the spoon to squeeze every last bit of its essence out before setting it aside on his saucer. He took the lemon wedge in a paper napkin to juice it and Rey had to hide her smile at how fussy he was being. Only once two spoonfuls of sugar had been meted out from the shaker did he glance up.

“I hear you’re working again.”

Rey chuckled gently. “If you can call editing fashion copy ‘work’, then yes.”

Hux stirred his tea smoothly and took a slow sip, gauging the temperature.

“Well, it all sounds very _accomplished_ if you ask me, but I never was much of a writer.” His eyes danced above the rim of the cup and Rey smiled despite herself. She always loved when Hux poked fun at his friend, and despite all that had happened, she still loved it.

“Why, thank you,” Rey demurred. “But you didn’t come all this way just to pay me a compliment, did you?”

Hux replaced his cup in its saucer and shook his head. He looked like a cat that had swallowed a canary.

“What if I told you I had an opportunity for you to do some real writing again?”

Rey stared at him. Was he offering her previous position back to her?

“Last night in Baltimore, a woman came up to me after an event.” Hux leaned forwards now and all trace of playfulness was gone from his eyes. “She had some very… interesting biographic information to share that concerns Erlandsson.”

Rey couldn’t help but lean in now too.

“What kind of information?”

Hux’s eyes flicked around the shop as if he was afraid of being overheard.

“She claims Erlandsson is her father.” His voice was nearly a whisper.

Rey narrowed her eyes at Armitage. Erlandsson was in his early fifties and had three children with his wife of over twenty years. His backstory was an unassailable picture of the American dream. If Hux was angling towards a smear campaign now, Rey had doubts about the efficacy.

“How old is this woman?” Rey asked against her better judgement. Her sense of journalistic curiosity was being piqued despite her repeated vows that she was no longer invested in what happened to the campaign.

“Same age as we are. Probably early thirties.”

“But…” Rey scowled. “Okay, so he has a child from a previous relationship? Lots of people have half-siblings, how is that--”

“She says her mother worked for his family,” Hux continued. He was enjoying teasing this out, it was plain to see.

Rey studied Hux. He was trying to let her draw her own conclusions, that much was apparent. Rey felt stupid as she slowly shook her head. She wasn’t sure what Hux was getting at.

“His family summered on the coast in the Carolinas.” Hux raised his eyebrows at her. “They have a house there. A big house.”

Erlandsson’s family were northerners. His great-grandfather had made a fortune in the late nineteenth century lumber trade in the north woods of Minnesota and southern Manitoba. Of course they had summer houses elsewhere, probably more than Rey could imagine. Their name stood on everything from park benches to collegiate libraries all across the upper Midwest. A historic mansion overlooked the river in downtown Minneapolis, the likes of which tourists gaped at and wondered how anyone could ever afford such opulence.

“Big houses need staff,” Hux breathed.

“This woman…” Rey suddenly realized what her friend was saying. “She’s colored?”

Hux looked ready to burst that she was finally on the same page as he.

“ _Yes_.” His single, whispered syllable raised the hairs on her neck.

A million questions occurred to Rey in that moment, but the one that tripped out of her mouth was: “Does Ben know?”

Hux shook his head and took a long sip of his tea. It steamed in the chilly air and he blew on it to cool the liquid further. Rey forced herself to lean back in her chair and attempt nonchalance in the face of this revelation. The pedestrians outside seemed like they were a different world from the intimate circle of their table, hurrying through the dusk to their myriad destinations. The shops rolled down their security gates and neon signs sputtered to life, busboys hauled trash cans to the curbs and snowflakes drifted silently from the darkening sky. Her insides churned with a mix of excitement, nerves and revulsion.

“So what does this have to do with me,” Rey finally asked. “I don’t work for you anymore.”

“I know,” Hux agreed quickly. “And I understand completely if you aren’t interested in taking this on.”

Rey fiddled with the handle of her spoon in the saucer. It had a pretty, filigree pattern that didn’t match the other, utilitarian diner silverware at their table.

“I didn’t tell Ben because this can’t come from within our shop.”

Rey nodded. “You’re right not to. It would be too obvious if it did. But what makes you think people will even believe this woman? Is she credible?”

“She seemed so,” Hux confirmed. “She claims to have her birth certificate. Erlandsson has met her, many times she says.”

Rey could not contain her surprise. “He has? But his policies--”

“I know, he says he’s for equality but he supports functional segregation.” Hux shook his head. “And I don’t think he’s alone in that, not by any means. But this type of news could change how people see his stance.”

“Well, _Women’s Wear Daily_ isn’t exactly the kind of publication to break a story like this,” Rey retorted. “Not unless you want cutting reporting about the outfits this lady wears.”

“No,” Hux conceded. “But you have connections.”

Holdo’s axiom sprang to mind. _Real, ugly politics has to come later_. Later, she supposed, was now.

“I’m not writing for the Times anymore. And how will we pay for travel and expenses?”

Hux waved his hand, dismissing her concern.

“As campaign manager, I still control the budget. There are…. discretionary funds.”

“Discretionary funds,” Rey repeated. She heaved a deep sigh and resumed stirring her remaining coffee. It was the last of a pot and tasted a bit burnt. The last sunlight faded behind the buildings and the sky shifted to a dull shade of grey lit by the city’s artificial lights.

“We have to act quickly, if we do anything,” Hux continued. “There’s just not a lot of time left, and I don’t want her to back out.”

Rey understood. She understood well the urgency of the situation, how easily sources could chicken out after a moment of being brave and refuse to talk. There were barely three weeks left until the election, and getting this story together would likely take at least a week. If they could find a publisher, it would likely appear right after the final debate, just a week before voting day.

“How is this any better than what they did to the senator, though? Doesn’t this just seem like an eye for an eye?”

Hux pursed his lips to one side in consideration.

“It’s not, though,” Armitage said this slowly, as though he were thinking through it for the first time himself. “Ben’s not responsible for the actions of his grandfather. They’re not the same person, and he’s not a Nazi, no matter what Bill was on about. But Erlandsson…”

He trailed off momentarily before continuing his train of thought.

“Think of how it would look, to have a man like that in the White House. In this day and age? If he wins, could I look at the folks I know, like Finn, and live with knowing I didn’t at least _try_ to share this information with voters before hand? I don’t think I can.”

Rey bit her lips but her cheeks flamed. Only seven months prior she’d thought the exact same thing about the senator. That felt like a lifetime ago as she raised her eyes to meet Hux’s.

“I think I know someone who might write it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Erlandsson is loosely based on [Strom Thurmond](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Strom_Thurmond), and more specifically on his relationship with his own mixed-race daughter, [Essie Mae Washington-Williams](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Essie_Mae_Washington-Williams). 
> 
> I get all the feels of Hux & Rey meeting by looking at [this old menu](https://digitalcollections.nypl.org/items/b0d65bdd-78de-7d0a-e040-e00a18065084). 
> 
> HMU on Tumblr! I'm @theafterglow-writes.


	22. Breaking

  ** _“It Was Always Just Us”_**

 

Special to the New York Times, October 25, 1964

By Margaret Nussbaum

 

_Clara Lee Smith lives modestly in a brick duplex in the Baltimore neighborhood where she serves as a stenographer for the local court system. Aged thirty-three, she is the mother of two with her husband of nearly ten years, Terrence, a welder at a local factory. The family attends church weekly at Bethlehem Primitive Baptist, of which Lee’s mother has been a long time member._

_The family didn’t always live in Baltimore, though. Smith’s mother came north from the Carolinas during the war in search of work with her ten-year-old daughter in tow. She worked long hours in factories sewing uniforms for the troops, contributing her skills to the homefront effort that helped propel the United States to victory._

_“I remember my mother coming home late in the evenings,” she recalls. “I had to be responsible, do my studies without being reminded, help out with the housework, often cook my own dinners. Lots of us did.”_

_By “us”, Smith means the makeshift towns that grew up around the war factories; her story could be anyone’s whose hometown was Ypsilanti, Michigan or Richmond, California._

_There is a key distinction that Smith is hesitant to introduce, however. Unlike some of her peers whose mothers went to work because their fathers were at war, Smith’s father was simply out of the picture._

_“It was always just us two,” Smith says fondly of that period in their lives. “It worked for us. People looked out for each other. I didn’t feel like I was alone, not ever.”_

_Not until she entered junior high and was assigned a family history project did she begin to question why she only had one parent._

_That was when she learned the truth about her father. Her mother wrestled with when, and how, to tell her only child about the circumstances that lead to her birth._

_“I suppose I could’ve just told Clara her father was dead,” Esther Lee chuckles. “But she was too smart for that. I decided the truth was the best, even when she was young.”_

_Before migrating to Baltimore, Ms. Lee worked for a family with a summer home on the coast near Charleston, a stone’s throw from where she herself grew up. She began working when she was just fourteen, under the supervision of the head maid in the household._

_By the time she was sixteen, she could tell the family’s middle son was sweet on her. He was older, having just begun university studies with plans to become an attorney._

_“We had lots of long talks that summer,” Ms. Lee recounts. “He would come wherever I was working and we would talk about all kinds of things.”_

_Smith is quiet as her mother recalls how she met Smith’s father._

_“We shouldn’t have happened,” Ms. Lee finishes. “But we did and here we are.”_

_After that summer, Smith’s father went back to school, finished at Harvard, then graduated at the top of his class from Yale law. He married another woman and had three more children._

_Smith has met her father on a number of occasions. After all, his family helped pay for her courses at the local business college to learn stenography. They have lived within fifty miles of one another for years as her father worked his way up the political ladder in Washington._

_His name is on her birth certificate._

_If you’re wondering why you’re reading Smith’s family story here, and now, she is prepared to answer the question._

_“My father would like to the President,” she says softly. “And I can’t sit here and listen to him say the government has no business enforcing equality for all its people. Not when he has a colored daughter and grandbabies. What he says, matters. It matters to me and it matters to them.”_

Alone in his apartment that morning, Ben set his coffee mug down hard enough to slop a little liquid on his counter.

“Holy fucking shit,” he breathed.

His hands shook as he smoothed down the paper and read the impossible lines once more.

_He has a colored daughter and grandbabies._

His heart pounded and he straightened without reading the rest of the article, went to his television set and switched it on. Seated barefoot in his underwear on his couch, he waited for the screen to warm while listening to the audio.

“The revelation of Senator Erlandsson’s alleged daughter with a colored woman employed by his parents has some voters scratching their heads about who will get their vote next Tuesday. Joining us now is Bill Mattheson on the street in Washington. Bill?”

The picture began to be less snowy and Ben made out the familiar outline of the reporter standing on the Mall.

“Well, I think it’s despicable what these people are doing!”

A woman with a clear plastic bonnet tied over her coiffed hair spoke into the microphone.  “It’s indecent. Think of his family, of his wife. If you ask me, this is exactly why we need someone like Erlandsson. Where is the line anymore?”

The man with her stood silent, shaking his head when Mattheson requested his comment.

Another man dressed in a trench coat spoke in a low, measured tone when asked his thoughts on the matter.

“Is it really the worst thing? You have to look at the overall picture. Personally, I don’t want to vote for either of these clowns.”

Ben humpfed into his mug and rolled his eyes.

“You’re a clown,” he muttered to the television. “Go ahead, write in Mickey Mouse. I’m sure he’ll be great.”

Ben retrieved the paper from the kitchen and attempted to finish reading the article as he continued to listen to the shocked musings of the American public.

“It wouldn’t surprise me one bit if we learned Solo’s people paid this woman off,” said an elderly gentleman holding an umbrella over his companion as a light rain began to fall. “Washington is a haven of liars and cheats who’ll do anything to get and keep their power.”

Ben peered over the top of the paper at this and reached for the telephone without averting his eyes from the set.

“Hello?”

“Did you do this?” Ben knew Hux knew exactly what he meant. There was no way his campaign manager wasn’t out of bed and on his couch watching this all unfold.

“Of course not,” Hux said evenly. “Last time I checked, my name isn’t Margaret.”

“Should we say something?”

“It seems like the situation is taking care of itself nicely, don’t you think?”

Ben stared at his television, overcome with a curious floating feeling. It felt like a weight had been lifted from his middle and he could breathe again for the first time in months.

“You are something else,” Ben shook his head in admirable disbelief. “I think you want this even worse than me.”

“I’m not the one you should be thanking,” Hux replied.

“You went to see her.”

There was a brief pause on the line before Hux answered obliquely.

“You’re welcome.”

* * *

 

That evening, Rey stood under the awning of the television and radio repair shop beside Midge watching the coverage of the developing story unfold on the bank of televisions in the window. A sizeable crowd gathered with them, a core group of die-hard news junkies waiting for their next fix. It was Sunday and without their coworkers to discuss things with, people in the city found other ways to make sense of the events.

“How predictable,” sniffed a woman behind them wearing a fur-collared coat. “Who can you trust anymore?”

“The only things you can count on are death and taxes, lady!” The retort came from in back from a man with a thick Brooklyn accent.

“Well, I never!” The woman took off down the sidewalk with her miniature poodle leading the way.

“Things are gonna be real interesting come next Tuesday,” the same gentleman spoke again.

A murmur of agreement went through the crowd and Rey nudged Midge with her elbow. Her friend still wore the same smug expression that had been plastered on her face when Rey had answered her door that morning. Midge’s arms were full of copies of her story and a bag of croissants and they'd poured over the story in leisure as if they hadn't read it a hundred times in the last week. As if they hadn’t stayed working until the newsroom was dead silent aside from the tiny hive of activity in a back conference room Holdo blocked off for them to use.

As if they hadn't screamed with joy and relief when they finally put a draft in front of Poe from which he couldn’t see to strike a single phrase with his red, wax pencil.

“Nice work,” he admitted grudgingly. “You gotta take this to the big boss.”

By now, the news had reached the West Coast and other papers were beginning to run their own interviews with Smith, each one a varying shade of damning for Senator Erlandsson.

“The Senator has declined to comment on this matter at this time,” the television anchor repeated for the umpteenth time. “His campaign requests the media respect the privacy of his family.”

“That's rich,” Midge said under her breath. “Which family does he'd mean?”

Rey shrugged and shifted between her feet. They'd been outside for hours and her feet had long since gone numb in the chilly autumn air, but neither of them owned a television set. Besides, it was a hoot to listen to people’s comments as they heard the news for the first or even the fifth time.

Some people were angry, though at what exactly varied widely: deception of the public, lying to constituents, consorting with colored folks, not supporting one’s children properly. Others were resigned, while still others seemed downright gleeful with schadenfreude at the spectacle unfolding in front of the nation this close to the election.

“You wanna grab a drink?” Rey bumped her shoulder against Midge’s. “I’m freezing.”

“I’ve never wanted a drink more,” Midge’s eyes glittered in the glow of the televisions. “The Desert?”

“Always.”

The women walked in silence to Oasis and found it fairly packed for a Sunday evening. After taking up residence in a booth lit by a single tea light in a red glass holder, Midge fired up a cigarette and took a lazy drag.

Rey let her head loll back against the black leatherette cushion and closed her eyes in exhaustion. They’d been working double time for over a week to get the story out, and she couldn’t believe there would be more work tomorrow. A cluster of barflies sat glued to the small set the bartender kept behind the bar.

“Do you miss it now?”

Rey opened her eyes at Midge’s question.

“The writing?”

Midge narrowed her eyes and gave a slow shake of her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

Rey’s cheeks flamed and she wondered if Midge could see it in the darkness.

“It was…” Rey shook her head and took a swig of her drink. How could she sum up her feelings about everything that had happened in a word? Missing implied fondness, and what she felt went beyond mere fondness.

“It wasn’t what I expected.”

Midge practically sprained her eyes rolling them.

Before she could protest further, a shout by one of the elderly men seated at the bar near the TV drew their attention outside their booth.

“Solo’s gonna talk to the press now!”  

Rey and Midge sprang from their places and took up residence behind the men, craning to see the screen. Others gathered behind them looking over the tops of their heads. The bartender tucked his dishrag in his belt and stood with his arms folded after he cranked the volume as high as it would go and the crowd hissed at each other to be quiet so they could all hear.

“Senator Benjamin Solo of New York has contacted WKQZ of Washington, D.C.to make comment on the recent turn of events in the presidential race. Previously trailing Senator Erlandsson in the polls by a hefty margin, Senator Solo is speaking with reporters live.”

Midge glanced at her but Rey kept her eyes glued firmly to the news. It surprised her that he would react so soon after the story broke and she wondered what he would have to say.

The feed cut to the street outside the campaign office where Ben stood on the bottom step of the stairs over the throng of reporters thrusting microphones towards him.

“Thank you for coming on such short notice,” he began, and the crowd hushed to hear him. “I’m sure it’s been a long day and I don’t want to take you away from your families on a Sunday evening.”

“Get on with it, son,” muttered one of the barflies, draining the last of his beer from his mug. “I gotta take a piss.”

“Senator, do you have anything to say about the accusations that your opponent has an illegitimate daughter by a colored woman?”

“I’m sure lots of people have plenty to say about that matter,” Ben answered. “But it’s not my place to comment on that now. Mrs. Smith was brave to come forward with her story, and I wish I were half that brave. Seeing her example made me realize I’ve been deceiving the American people in my own way. I’m asking you to put your trust in me as a leader, and it’s only fair that I honor that trust by sharing something that’s been weighing on me for awhile--for most of this campaign, in fact.”

“What is he doing?” Midge whispered.

Rey swallowed hard and shook her head. She couldn’t see anyone else from the campaign in the crowd.

Ben waited a moment for the crowd to quiet once more before continuing. He wore only a dress shirt and slacks without a tie or jacket, and he tugged his hand through his hair before stuffing his hand in his pocket. It was his most obvious tell, one they’d worked tirelessly to scrub from his demeanor before the debates that still reared its head when he was feeling unsure or nervous. Rey’s heart beat harder to see it now than when he’d shown up at her door.

“The truth is, I met someone earlier this year. Someone I was determined not to like.” Ben looked sheepish. “I’m ashamed to admit I thought... she wasn’t good enough for me. But as I began to get to know her, she proved me wrong.”

He broke off and cleared his throat. Rey curled her fingers into a fist and pressed them to her lips. Had the crowd not pressed so close to them, she felt sure she would’ve fallen to the floor as her knees went to jelly.

“In fact, she made me wonder whether I was good enough for _her_. I wouldn’t be standing here in front of you now if she hadn’t kept going despite everything. And I know I didn’t make it easy.”

Rey closed her eyes. They’d gone hot and scratchy and she tucked her chin to her chest.

“If I’m elected, I can only hope to demonstrate half the courage, the fortitude, and the hope that she showed me on a daily basis. She taught me that we can all work together with people who might at first seem very different from ourselves, and that if we give each other a chance, the results can be surprising.”

Rey’s breath shuddered as a silent sob wracked her body and Midge put an arm around her shoulders. The onlookers around them stood stock still and an air of confusion seemed to overtake the room.

“Senator Solo, are you in love with this woman?”

“Who is she?”

“What’s this woman’s name?”

The television reporters hurled the questions as fast as they could while scribbling in their notebooks.

Ben didn’t answer right away. Rey looked out of the tops of her eyes at the screen and blinked hard against the tears that burned in her lashes while Midge leaned her head against Rey’s shoulder in solidarity.

He opened and closed his mouth a couple times before he finally replied.

“Yes, I am, and her name is Rey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CALL HER BY HER NAME, BEN!! XD
> 
> Will Senator Solo win the election now? Just remember, the [Voting Rights Act](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Voting_Rights_Act_of_1965) didn't pass until 1965. 
> 
>    
> HMU on Tumblr - I'm @theafterglow-writes.


	23. Make Believe

Rey stared at the ceiling. This room’s plasterwork had a gold fleck in it that reflected the light of the lamp, tiny bright points that shone on the grey plaster surface. She’d seen this comforter before in a different hotel chain this year. Which one exactly escaped her now as she traced its pattern and tried to breathe against the nervous knot that sat in her chest. When she closed her eyes, all she could picture was lying with Phas in the striped canvas cabana on the beach in July. How it had only been four months between then and now? What was four months? Not even half a year, Rey mused silently as she turned on her side. Barely the length of a semester.

It had been almost a year since she’d graduated college.

She had arrived promptly at four and checked in under a different name than her own. The clerk stared at her for an oddly long time before turning back with a key in hand and explaining how to find the room in the labyrinth of corridors. Her cheeks burned as he scrutinized her once more but she tossed her hair back and merely said, “Thank you.” She thought of the familiar but imperious way Leia had directed the hired help at the beach as she walked away from the reception desk and hoped she mustered half that confidence as she strode towards the elevators without a backward glance. Only once the doors had closed, had she slumped back into the corner and tried not to stare at her own reflection in the mirror that adorned the back wall of the car.

This waiting certainly did nothing to calm her nerves.

After Ben’s declaration on the news, Midge had walked her home on Sunday evening, offering Rey her handkerchief from the pocket of her trousers without comment.

They had lingered on her building’s stoop for a minute before Rey finally managed to ask, “Did you know?”

Midge’s look struck her as pitying. “It’s not exactly what I meant when I said you should ‘take advantage of the opportunity’, but… I had my suspicions.”

Despite herself, Rey had laughed at this.

A knock startled her now and it felt as though the knot broke apart to shoot down her limbs. She sprang from the bed and went to the door, pausing to smooth her blouse around her waist before answering.

Ben’s black wool overcoat held a few melting snowflakes on the shoulders and several more glistened in his hair. The smell of cold met her and she crossed her arms out of habit against it. It must have been just cold enough to flurry but not frigid, as his coat was unbuttoned and he wore no gloves.

“Hi,” she tried.

“Rey,” he breathed. “Can I come in?”

She had played out this reunion in her head a million ways, but any sense of the cool reserve she hoped to project vanished with him in front of her. Instead, she felt the same nervous tension as when she’d gone to his room on the fourth of July. She stood aside and he entered the room without another word.

The door clicked closed and she engaged the chain before saying softly, “So Senator, sources say you’re in love.”

He had the decency to look slightly embarrassed at her weak joke. He shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back on his heels, pressed his lips into a thin line and huffed before finally replying.

“I’m sorry I didn't talk to you first. Things have been--”

“Crazy. I know, they're always crazy, aren't they.” She took a step closer to him with her arms still wrapped around her. She shivered as his eyes traveled up and down her figure.

“They are.” As eager as he had sounded when she’d phoned him, he seemed hesitant.

She stopped a foot from him. It was absurd, how expectant she felt now. She'd stood this close or closer to him hundreds of times, but never been able to feel his presence so achingly close to her.

“Philadelphia, huh?” Ben offered a small smile as he glanced around the room. “Neutral zone?”

“Anonymous,” Rey replied quietly. “For both our sakes.”

Ben’s face fell at that.

“Rey.” He closed the gap between them but didn’t move to touch her. “I know you helped break that story. Armitage told me he came to see you. I... I’m surprised you did that. I hope you know I didn’t expect it, or have any hand in planning it myself.”

She tucked her chin to her chest.

“That was on purpose,” she admitted. “To protect your reputation.”

She started when his hand met her cheek and traced down her jawline to tilt her face back up. His thumb swept slowly over her bottom lip and her breath caught to see his eyes flick down to her mouth.

“I need to know,” she started but broke off when a lump formed suddenly in her throat. She didn’t trust her voice but it came out in a cracked whisper when she forced herself to continue. To say the one thing that had nagged her since the weekend.

“Is this real? Or was I just--”

“Jesus,” he muttered and crushed her to him. “Is that what you think?”

Rey concentrated the sensation of his shirt button pressing against her forehead and held her breath to keep from sobbing openly. A fat tear made its way down her cheek and dissolved slowly into the fabric, then another.

And another.

She ground her face against the growing wet spot and heaved a great breath.

“I couldn’t have planned on you if I had a hundred Huxes on staff,” Ben murmured into her hair. “And I meant what I said.”

Rey let her hands go underneath his coat then and she clutched at the side seams of his suit jacket beneath it, the material warm from his body. It reminded her instantly of her father coming home from work and how she’d barrel through the house to leap at him, her small hands buried under his coat as he picked her up and gave her a peck on her head.

“But I need to know,” Ben went on. “How _you_ feel about all this. Because if you don’t feel the same, I’ll leave you in peace. Please don’t feel obligated to reciprocate.”

Rey’s breath shuddered and she shook her head against him, not fully believing what she was hearing. The small moments with him that she so treasured from this extraordinary, unexpected year felt like a stone on her heart. It embarrassed her to think she might have betrayed the promise she made to her friends less than a year ago, that she backslid so quickly from the easy resolve of hatred to the uncertain territory of... love.      

When she did not answer, he continued despite sounding more tentative.

“If your feelings about me are still the same as they were in July--say the word, and I’ll go. But I want you to know my feelings for you are genuine.”

Rey raised her head and the tender look he gave her as he thumbed away a tear nearly broke her.

“I wanted to hate you too,” she whispered. “But I don't. I can't.”

His relief showed instantly on his face and he cupped her cheek in his giant palm. It felt very warm against her skin and she closed her eyes when he bent in to kiss her. His lips were still a touch cold from outside but his tongue was hot as she parted her lips and let him gently sweep it against hers.

And oh, how he kissed her now--like they had nowhere else to be, as if they hadn’t just spent three months apart, as though he had always loved her and only her. A fierce sense of possession overcame her and she found herself kissing him back with the same fervor.

“What do we do now?" Rey asked when he finally pulled away.  

Ben smoothed her hair back from her forehead before answering.

“I don’t know,” he answered plainly. “I’ve never been in love before.”

* * *

Hours later, Rey cracked the door to slip the room service tray outside for housekeeping. Unfamiliar with the city and unwilling to venture out together, they holed up in the hotel. Snowflakes swirled past the windows in thick gusts and when she turned back to the room, Ben was pulling the privacy drapes closed.

“Looks like a storm setting in,” he observed.

Rey went to the edge of the bed and perched there, working her toes in the pile of the carpet through her stockings.

“Are you planning to stay?”

Ben crossed the room to sit beside her with his hands tucked beneath his thighs. His posture struck her as boyish.

“I didn't want to assume,” he said softly. “I can get a room--”

He broke off when she stood suddenly and moved in front of him.

“Stay,” she whispered and brushed his hair away from his forehead. “Let’s pretend.”

His full lips quirked at her request but his hands remained in place. He looked suspicious of her but his curiosity was stronger.

“What are we pretending?”

Rey’s heart quickened that he wanted to play along and she reached slowly to undo the top button of her blouse. Ben’s eyes followed her movement, sitting up straight now and drawing her close between his legs.

“Let’s start over,” she suggested. “That we’re just… a man, and a woman. Like we just met.”

Ben’s smile cracked his cheeks and she could tell he was warming to her advances. “Okay, do I know your name?”

Rey hesitated for a moment, considering the implication of his question before deciding to play it straight and let the past die.

“I’m Rey,” she stuck out her hand earnestly. “What’s yours?”

“Ben,” he grasped her hand and drew it to his lips, barely touching them to her knuckles. “Do you come here often?”

Rey’s cheeks flamed at this innuendo but she kept pretending. “It’s my first time, but I’d like to.”

Without a word, his hands went to her hemline and he worked her skirt up, up over her thighs and hips to bunch around her slender waist. The heat she felt in her face just an instant before now overtook her entire body, seeming to pool between her legs.

“Well, Rey,” he looked up at her, “It’s my first time, too.”

She almost laughed but realized he was being earnest, trying to follow her lead. She bit her lower lip as he hooked his fingers into the waist of her stockings and began gently working them down her legs, slowly and carefully so as not to tear them. It felt both ticklish and terribly, wonderfully sensual-- the cool air meeting her overheated skin, the silky material sliding over her thighs, the pressure of his fingers easing her stockings off her body. A shiver raked over her and she braced her hands against his shoulders to step free of her nylons.

For his part, he looked calm and unhurried. It was only when he shifted slightly and skirted the heel of his hand across his lap that she saw how eager all this was making him. His restraint after months apart was unexpected and her breathing went short as he hitched her right leg up beside him on the bed.

“I want to learn what you like,” he gazed up at her lazily. “Show me?”

What felt innocent only a minute earlier now felt dangerous as Rey complied without hesitation, freeing one hand from his shoulder to trace the seam of her body through her panties. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the sound of his breath, how it ebbed and flowed with the movement of her hand. A few times it stopped altogether, only to resume a moment later with a soft exhalation that sounded breathless. He moved under her touch and her eyes fluttered open as she felt his fingers moving the material between her legs aside, their fingers brushing underneath it.

“Can I help you?”

Rey clutched at his shirt now as he teased at her, lost in their game. She knew he knew perfectly well what she wanted. She had taught him before, and he was a diligent pupil. He worked her body with a practiced patience, pausing several times until she was ready to beg before resuming. His fingers filled her at last and she swayed against him, knees going wobbly from the strain of standing one-legged.

Her head buzzed when she peaked a minute later and she let him pull her down onto his lap, boneless and drunk with pleasure. He sucked at the column of her neck and her head lolled back as he bounced her on him. They were each practically still fully clothed but they were here, together, and that was all the mattered. He was a man and she was a woman, and they were in love.

For this moment, they were just Rey and Ben.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HMU on Tumblr - I'm @theafterglow-writes!


	24. Endings are Beginnings

_January 1965_

The clock edged towards two in the morning as they stumbled in without turning on the lights. Still unfamiliar with their new living space, they bumped into boxes and random furniture.

“Ow!” Ben exclaimed loudly, his voice echoing a bit off the walls that had yet to be hung with pictures. “My toe-- _fuck_ , has there always been a table there?”

Rey stifled a giggle with the back of her hand across her mouth. She had removed her heels at the door and her feet were quickly growing chilled against the polished wood floor. Her scalp ached from her updo and she longed to pull out the bobby pins that held it fast.

“It was a gift,” she whispered. “I think it’s antique.”

The table sat low and squat in the hallway with its gold paint shining dully in the moonlight. It had an inlaid marble top and carved legs featuring fat cherubs peeking from behind foliage. While it wasn’t a style she would’ve picked out herself, she found its unapologetic opulence from a bygone era growing on her in an unexpected way.

“It’s in the way, is what it is!” Ben groused and stood back up from where he clutched his hurt foot. “I’m gonna to go to work on crutches tomorrow!”

“Shhhhhhhh,” Rey quieted him. “You’re tougher than that table.”

They made their way to the bedroom without further injury and Ben closed the doors behind them before drawing the heavy drapes closed. Rey plopped onto the chair in front of her vanity table and began unwinding her hair. The pile of pins grew steadily in front of her on the glass tabletop. Beneath it, a strip of funhouse photobooth pictures of herself with her friends at Coney Island lay alongside a formal picture of her parents on their wedding day. Rose had given her a news clipping with the photo of them dancing after the convention and while its quality was already degrading a touch, Rey loved it and kept it there as well.

Ben came up behind her and ran his hands delicately over her shoulders, bending to peck the side of her neck.

“You looked beautiful tonight,” he remarked.

Their eyes met for a split second in the mirror before Rey looked away in embarrassment. It still made her blush when he complimented her, even in private. For his part, Ben looked handsome in a disheveled way only she was privileged to see: his jacket off, bowtie unknotted and hanging loose in the collar of his dress shirt, cufflinks undone and sleeves rolled part way up his long forearms.

“Help me take off my necklace?”

He obliged without comment and fumbled a bit with the tiny lobster clasp before managing it and handing the strand of pearls to her. They had belonged to her mother, and she only wore them on very special occasions. A gift from her father to her mother, they were one of the first imports allowed from Japan after the end of the war.

Rey stowed her jewelry in its box and waited patiently as Ben undid the closure on the back of her dress without being asked. As the material parted, she felt like she could breathe deeply for the first time in hours.

“I’d call that a success,” he mused. “What did you think?”

She nodded in agreement and rose slowly, holding the dress up to her bust to keep it from puddling on the floor around her. It had to go back to the shop tomorrow and she had felt self-conscious all night knowing it was on loan. But she'd known this was the right one from the moment she tried it on, before stepping out of the dressing room for all the shopgirls to gush over how elegant, how fitting, how stately it looked on her. The master tailor had scowled only for a moment, stabbed a pin at the waistline to indicate where it needed to be nipped in a touch to hug her figure, then pronounced with his hands clasped: “Perfect.”

She looked up at Ben now, hardly able to believe this whole night was already at its end. He cupped her chin and traced his thumb over her lips, looking almost wistful, as though he was trying to memorize how she looked at this very moment.

Rey broke the silence to blurt out the question that had been nagging at her all evening.

“So what should I call you now? Can I still call you Senator?”

His eyes crinkled at her question before he replied and Rey knew he meant to say something impertinent.

“You can call me ‘Mr. President’. Because that’s my title.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What does Rey's dress look like? Here are some options:
> 
>  
> 
> [Classic Red and White](https://www.etsy.com/listing/175333202/1960s-couture-gown-dupioni-ivory-crimson)  
> [Red Velvet](https://www.etsy.com/listing/556546794/1960s-red-velvet-evening-gown-34-bust-26)  
> [Pink Grecian Goddess](https://www.etsy.com/listing/111567618/1960s-evening-gown-pink-silk-crepe)
> 
>  
> 
> If that's not enough, Vanity Fair has a gallery of [First Lady Inaugural Ball Gowns](https://www.vanityfair.com/style/photos/2017/01/first-lady-inaugural-ball-gowns) through the years - worth a look! 
> 
> First, I want to thank all of you readers for sticking with this epic for the last 8 months. It's meant everything to see your reactions, your exclamations, your (understandable) ire at Senator Darth Darcy, your heartbreak for Rey, and your delight at Phux. Please know that writers live to hear from readers; if you're ever wondering whether you should leave a comment, even if it's to say you hate something, the answer from this author is resoundingly "YES"! :) 
> 
> Next, a huge shout-out to my cousin and partner-in-Reylo-crime, S.-- without your constant encouragement and thoughtful feedback, these stories would not be half as good. :) 
> 
> Finally, a shout-out also to the incomparable @poethrotsvitha for betaing my first chapter and giving this epic's maiden voyage a blessing -- thank you, and I'll still come visit even if I copied someone else's dream vacation. :)
> 
> Come say hi on Tumblr - I'm @theafterglow-writes, and [buy me a coffee](http://ko-fi.com/theafterglow) if you feel so inclined.


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